[This. This was what they both needed, and it felt as natural as anything could be. If there were complications, they could drift away for now, and Emet-Selch didn't even have to be asphyxiated to manage that condition. There was too much to concentrate on, on this duty he loved, on the taste and texture of his husband's arousal, and of how much they wanted together. And could achieve, finally.
(Emet-Selch had felt a similar kind of relief, on tasting and feeling the first hints of precome. This implied that Mettaton had the capacity to be... productive, in his releases. That his orgasm (as he refused to imagine the cruelty of him being unable to reach that point with this equipment, with this sensation) wouldn't be a dry affair. That much would have been a disappointment, if he were honest with himself- and would have necessitated an additional wish.
But some part of him relaxes at that tell-tale dribble; somehow, Mettaton's body was capable of producing fluid. He wasn't inclined to ask how.)
It still hitches his breath, causes his body to tense hard when the initial burst of semen hits his tongue, floods his mouth. It's only the work of practice that has him swallowing it down as neatly as he does, despite his own overwhelm and desire to cry out with him. But dedication took priority, dedication and simple covetousness, not wanting to let even a single drop escape him, after so long without (Even if they both appreciated him being made a mess- but that was ever a process, a work to be built on round after round. As he'd already told him, this was only the start.).
Swallowing back each spurt as he's given it, he slows his movement but doesn't cease it immediately, maintaining a firm, demanding pressure around the robot's cock. His hands, too, don't neglect their duties, as his grip squeezes up Mettaton's shaft, milking him, encouraging him to give up everything that he had. The grip on his balls is comparatively gentle, a softer rub provided by his thumb, if no less possessive for it. All of what he touched belonged to him, and not because he'd wished it into existence.
But with that possessiveness was a rapturous adoration of this moment and this man he was knelt before, whose cock he was taking. His own erection felt heavier with every swallow of thick seed, but the mage doesn't consider making any move to touch himself through fabrics that felt uncomfortably restrictive. And while he shifts in place, it doesn't distract him, only adds to his own pleasure in the moment, of being properly wanting and needy as he knew he could be. All he needed was Mettaton's own cock....
Even a release as full, as extended as Mettaton's had to reach some kind of end. While the robot still moves, Emet-Selch obediently strokes him, providing him contact even to a length especially sensitive. But his mouth finally departs him, once he feels the gush of his climax slow to a drip. Not that he moves far at all, as his tongue laps gently at the slit, leaving it with damp kisses and the stroke of his lips against it, smearing what drip of come remained across them.
Safe, warmed by all he'd swallowed, and feeling protected during this whole experience by the way Mettaton's legs had wrapped around him, by the fingers in his hair, he's finally able to glance upward again, towards the other man's face. Out of breath, his own look remains fairly tidy apart from the flush to him (and the muss to his hair where it had been gripped), Mettaton's come neatly contained besides the sheen smeared deliberately on his lips. If there was anything different to his semen, the Ascian hadn't noticed it, satisfied entirely by its familiar consistency and heat- something fitting to the hot robot who produced it.]
Mettaton. [He whispers against him, soft as anything. Relieved, despite his body's own ache- as if something he'd needed to express finally had been.] How... was that?
[Mettaton knew that Emet-Selch had been looking out for him. For his pleasure and his ecstasy and his enjoyment. Even during these past months when Mettaton had tried for sex with him, hadn't Emet-Selch been focused on what Mettaton couldn't experience with him? What he couldn't respond to- and Mettaton knew he felt isolated. But he also knew that Emet-Selch responded to his own pleasure- and was carried away with it. Ths is just a fact, and when he could respond in this way, he could see the result.
With his climax coming to an end, Emet-Selch so attractively draws off of his cock- leaving him cold to the ambient air, and Mettaton's hips jerk again just to impress upon Emet-Selch how much he enjoyed the security of his mouth. So Emet-Selch pulls off, and as though meeting his kiss, his cock is shoved against his lips, leaving a sticky line of seed against him.
He's reeling. Emet-Selch took him with such dedication, and the idol felt nothing short of grateful for it all. He knew they'd both have wished for this outcome, and he felt pleased to know that they prioritized how they came together in blissful ecstasy, in attempting to bridge what space existed between them. To watch Emet-Selch now was to see him with defenses dropped, focused and pleased to be in service... while similarly enjoying himself, as the robot knew how aroused he'd be by now. A thought to ache over again, as though oversensitivity weren't enough to have him shuddering.
Mettaton groans at the sight of Emet-Selch smearing come over his lips, the still-swollen tip an applicator. To... smooth semen over his lips- and when he lifts his head just barely, enough to speak to Mettaton with his lips still against his cock, the impression of his lips glistening catches Mettaton's breath. If there's something pecuiar about the content of his climax, not even Mettaton notices it entirely- and finds that Emet-Selch's lips should be flush with color, and glistening to boot. (A bit like lip gloss, but he doesn't think anything other than how lovely he looks, and how it matches the flush to his feature, the mussiness of his hair.)]
You know how easily you can do me in. It's almost unfair. [His pout is all for show, though he's taken aback at how quickly Emet-Selch could have him screaming in orgasm... Not really, though. Because that was expected of him.] I... I can barely think, still. I feel so... vividly, ah... I need you, my love...
[And needed him, just like this, in this way so intimate. With another shudder, Mettaton's posture slouches in his overcome, and his hands rove down Emet-Selch's neck and grope at the smaller man's upper back. Releasing him from the welcome prison of his legs, he still wants him close. For now, he slumps over him, eclipsing light as he tries to hold onto him despite his body's momentary disagreeableness.
With a sigh, he pets through his skin, fingers rubbing over his scalp.] And you... how did you like me?
[It endeared, the jerk of hips, the push of Mettaton's erection against his lips as if to kiss him back with it- or to protest being left out in the cold. A condition he was sympathetic to, and was more than amenable to fixing, considering his own preference, his own longing to fit him all the way into his neck. But for all that he suspected that his lover wouldn't complain about being provided that intensity so soon after one climax, it would still be better for them both to wait a moment. Besides, Emet-Selch wanted to soak in this: the awareness of having just brought Mettaton to release, having the taste of it on his tongue, the feeling of it glazing his lips. The memory of the sounds he'd made, as his body had reacted to the pleasure wracking him.
Taking him back into his mouth already would lead to more than just holding him there. The smaller man also wasn't sure how he'd last through that, and he didn't particularly want to climax with his clothes still on (though it would be more likely an aggravation than a mood-killer, in his current state). The mage huffs at their own impatience, that getting Mettaton's pants off had been as far as they'd gotten, when it came to disrobing them both- but he also couldn't blame them.
Nearly smiling at Mettaton's reply, it gratified in some honest way to hear it, for all that he already knew the answer.]
If I can return to you some measure of the way I feel- then it was worth the price.
[The intangible cost of bringing this back to them. The distastefulness of treating with that Crystal (and their Overseer) at all. He'd do it all again. He'd keep doing it, to restore anything else that would continue to enhance their life.
If Mettaton sought his closeness, close he would remain- as Emet-Selch had no desires that ran remotely contrary to that (beyond wishing he were bared to him too). Though he exhales a shaky breath against the head of his cock, it's followed by a warm and gentle kiss to it. A small portion of his affection for him, delivered unselfconsciously. He would've kissed his lips too, shared the texture of his semen with him, if not its flavor, but he couldn't quite reach him like this.
But from there, he leaves Mettaton's cock for the moment, if not to move far. Only to rest the side of his head against the inside of the robot's bared thigh, nuzzling close into this similarly intimate position. His eyes drift closed for the moment, enjoying the attention to his hair, the sensation of fingers deep within it. His heart was pounding, his body's want consistent, undaunted, uneased, but his manner was otherwise as relaxed as it could be. Appreciating his husband's afterglow, the added nearness his slouch provided, and all evidence of his overcome, he hums quietly to himself.
While he lets one hand drop, the other does remain at Mettaton's length, petting slowly over him with similar signs of affection. Though he'd left him 'clean', at least of come, a sheen of spit remained, glistening. Absently, his fingers spread it further down his cock, not deliberately, but as a part of their simple stroking over him. Marveling over the texture, his closeness- Emet-Selch sighs again, contentedly, nudging his cheek more firmly into his leg.]
You overwhelm, as ever. I know you recall the effect this has on me.
[He was very, very aroused, and can't help but shiver at every touch, at the hands on his back, things he wanted to press into if it wouldn't mean moving away from his spot. But after a pause, he continues, in a quieter voice.]
...I missed this.
[The sex was the means, but this way of bonding with him- he didn't know how they could ever replace it.]
[Is he hallucinating it? Emet-Selch's lips aren't just glossy with something slick... Sparkling, perhaps. He does notice this, though he continues not to draw a connection. He wouldn't guess that anything was different about his ejaculate so soon. Especially not without it on full display against skin.
MTT understands immediately what Emet-Selch finds the price to be, which extended beyond mere currency. He smiles, simple and bright- before exhaling his heat, eyelid lowering heavily in his lust at the sight presented before him. Emet-Selch... is a horrible tempter, even when he moves from planting semen-slick kisses against the tip of his slow-to-fade erection to rest against his thigh. Mettaton follows each point of contact with rapt attention, unable to ignore the pinpricks of feeling that shock him to his core. From the hand that lazily strokes over a hyper-sensitive arousal, to the way weight and pressure felt against... his bare thigh (another absurdity).
And the way that wet was drawn down his length from a slow stroke, which has Mettaton shift ever so slightly with a light grunt. He can't help but pet over his head some more, his hands roaming to his back, compelled to touch him all over- and with a productive result.
Especially becaue he did know the effect. His next sigh is a shudder, though his smile only grows, eagerness blooming despite his recent release. And warmth, ultimately, as Mettaton gropes softly over his shoulder blades needily.]
I did, too. [He missed this closeness. But he also missed this sensation, and the ways Emet-Selch always sought to bring it to him.
... Perhaps there was no one-to-one replacement, after all, even if there were other ways they could reach for each other's hearts and passions. A dance, Mettaton knew, would serve them similarly... but each time they'd ever danced there had always been an edge of arousal to it, and that would be lost in translation, for all that they would feel it. Like lacking a body to express with; like aching for form to feel with, to show with, to motion and react with, both the deliberate actions and the unintentional responses. This had become an integral part of himself, as necessary as having a body at all. He needed it like he needed a voice.
So he sighs, leaning in some more. With Emet-Selch having settled back and against his thigh, Mettaton can curl forward enough to nudge his nose into his scalp.] I missed it all.
[It had felt lonely. It had hurt. He doesn't know how he can come to terms with the months of ache. He doesn't resent Emet-Selch; he doesn't even resent himself anymore. ...It was a good thing he was corporealized, he thought, closing his eye. If he ever lost his body, the way he lost his sense of touch like this...
But Mettaton doesn't venture down that path. All of this had been fortunately returned, and he sighs, squeezing Emet-Selch's back and venturing up to the collar of his robes. Slipping fingers beneath, he slips a single hand beneath fabric so that he could touch and squeeze at the skin of his upper back while seconds tick by, while he smiles and breathes him in.]
But you wanted this as much as I do. I think you understand my heart, too. How it feels to want to feel you, and be felt. [To feel Emet-Selch closely, firmly, sensitively, and to have his sex, his want, his passion felt in return. And Emet-Selch wanted to be felt, Mettaton knew... To be heard without words, understood with the brush of fingertips and the collapse of his body and the sweat of his skin. Mettaton buries himself in his hair, planting a long, firm kiss there.
Before smiling again, more mischievous this time.] And I want to feel you, all right... Your body, against mine. None of this fabric, unless it's bedsheets. [His next sentiment is a hiss of a whisper, husky and heated.] Oh, I'm aching to have you flush to me...
[Even if they might have managed some acceptance towards their limitations someday- no. Emet-Selch couldn't believe even that. That they would survive as they had been, yes, but no more. It wouldn't get easier; he wouldn't become inured to it, because that would be the same as giving up. One way or another, this was how they were meant to be.
Some details were interchangeable; whether Mettaton could shapeshift, or whether he had a permanent (if potentially detachable?) endowment, that much mattered less so long as it functioned. Whether Mettaton's greater sensitivity came about with a partial fusion as an organic entity, or something as purely magical as this... this was probably, strictly speaking, better. (As a puca allergic to himself was its own unique cruelty. And for all that Emet-Selch found the ears and fur and even some of the behavior reluctantly charming- he knew some of those aspects aggravated his husband.)
Most of all, he wants to dwell on this pleasure, this relief, this anticipation- for what both of them might continue to feel as they continued. The conversion of the ache of yearning into the ache of overuse. There was nothing that would erase what they'd lived through, the loneliness they'd felt even while resting in each other's company- but they'd reached the end of it now.
(Emet-Selch still needed his magic, his aetherial sensitivity. He hadn't forgotten it; his own senses felt deadened in that way. But he'd never relied on it to reach Mettaton- and right now, reaching him had been the greatest priority of all. His own losses would be easier to bear, like this.)
A small noise is his response to the way Mettaton seemed to curl over him, containing him, the warmth of his face in his hair. Rubbing his cheek more firmly to him, nearly burrowing against him, the mage finds his refuge there. Not quite able to speak, he nods; he'd wanted this, the same as him. As much as him. They'd yearned for this together, had reached for it however they could. For this moment, he was safe.
A security that wasn't quite restful, not with as stiff as he was, and as stiff as he knew Mettaton could be brought to again (while he savored how reluctantly the robot ever became anything less than firm). And with the way Mettaton slipped his hands under fabric, seeking bare skin, it was difficult to not squirm, to lean into that touch however he could. So he doesn't deny the impulse, groaning low as his own body felt oversensitive, keen for any sort of touch.
Oblivious to whatever extra had been left in his husband's ejaculate, Emet-Selch kisses Mettaton's thigh with sticky lips, before licking from him that small residue- still feeling inclined to claim it all for himself, his breath damp and warm against him.]
You could help, [He responds in a similar whisper, rougher, but just as heated.] to strip these robes from me, if you're feeling impatient. Even if I'm left to remove the rest myself.
[His podea, shoes... he was really quite overdressed for what would presumably occupy the rest of the day. For the way he wanted to be, with him, decorated only in the results of their ardor.
Emet-Selch huffs, even nips the inside of Mettaton's thigh, while giving his cock a loving squeeze.]
You're not the only one aching... for that, for everything we've dreamt of.
[Though it was more than his cock that wanted to be pressed to him, shown to him; that ache went deeper than that.]
[(Had Emet-Selch been gifted his powers before Mettaton's sensitivities and anatomy, would they have found something different together? What of Mettaton's powers to boot? Again, the biggest point of lament was this setting and its apparent need to strip its inhabitants of what made them, them. From the mundane to the important. Not all was solved or perfect... and Mettaton understood Emet-Selch's interest in his own powers. In a world where they awoke with only their native powers, what would become of them and their need for closeness? What would they do, with their abilities to manipulate souls- to take them, and to see them, to combine?)
Mettaton only skirts around these kinds of thoughts, thinking instead of his own loss, then gain, and his gratitude over having it back. Over the man who wished for it to be so- and what he could have wished for in himself. But all things would come to them, thought Mettaton, even if they shouldn't have to wish for something fundamentally them back into being.
That's the nature of it. And right now, Mettaton was grateful that this method of his expression was returned to him. He and his husband could connect like this; they'd grown accustomed to having this much, and found it to be plenty.
As fingers smooth over skin, Mettaton sighs, shivering as tactile input shot through his arms and left him feeling... a lot of things. The softness of skin beneath robes, the warmth of his body beneath all of that fabric, the palpable firmness of muscle and bone beneath- the every last detail of his spine, of his much-softer waist... Mettaton could become lost in soaking in these details all over again, he knew with a smile and shiver, as Emet-Selch invites him to help, if he were impatient. Was he?
Well, he ached. That much was for sure. Mettaton chuckles- though he gasps, closing his thighs slightly around Emet-Selch's face at the sensation of teeth in silicone. (That... is a sensation to revisit. Mettaton shudders, rubbing the smaller man between his legs appreciatively.)]
Let's see... Can I be impatient and patient, at once? [A rhetorical question. Mettaton knew how he felt.] Because I'd tear these robes from your body... but I want to savor you, too. And, well. You know. [He pecks the top of his head.] Not rip your clothes.
[Important. Even if Emet-Selch had his magic to repair it, Mettaton did not want to rip his clothes. But he didwant him stripped post-haste, that much was true, and he'd agree that Emet-Selch was very over-dressed for their late afternoon together, that would progress into the evening.
(The dragon youngling would likely want dinner once roused from its nap. Mettaton is not thinking about them right now. Good parenting. Perhaps he'd be reminded of them shortly...)
It's easy to draw his hands up Emet-Selch's back, fingers probing over the softness-and-firmness of skin until he's at the collars of his clothes. And even if it has proper closures, it's spaciousness means that Mettaton can whisk the cowl over the top of Emet-Selch's head to start, flicking it off to the side of the bed. His robes are next- similarly spacious enough to coax up and over his head, even if there was some other way to remove them. The robot gathers fabric in his fists and tugs, drawing it up until he could pull it over his husband's head with an urgency that definitely felt impatient but eager more than anything.]
Off with this bulk! Give me your warmth, Hades... I'm getting more than I dreamt of, at this rate. [Because damn. Warmth and chill were already making his head spin, in addition to all else. Even while he grips onto fabric, Mettaton attempts to urge Emet-Selch to join him up on the bed, gentle pushes and nudges while he pulls and coaxes fabric up- and finally, draws it up enough that he can provide the suggestion for Emet-Selch to move arms, to slip them from sleeves.]
[(Briefly, they'd been in that situation in Nippon, after their memories of one another had returned, but before Mettaton's pucahood had joined it. There had been less time for frustration to build, given that their collected recollection- for all that they were certainly and solidly in love, attached and dedicated- wasn't complete. And that they'd shared a night of godhood, of being united in soul, only to break apart when morning finally came for them. It had... hurt, in a way unique that Emet-Selch hadn't felt before or since.
However. If given enough time, he suspected that the trauma of interrupted divinity would be outdone by exactly what they'd been going through now. Or if not exactly (as they would be able to reach, to interact with one another's souls to some degree, even when they weren't merged), close enough that shedding his body another time would've become the only possible option. They would have one another, in all the ways they wanted, even if it took being a god to do it.)
It was unreasonable, how responsive he felt to simple touches to his back, as though his own sensitivity had not only been restored but enhanced. Every nerve was charged, reactive to Mettaton's investigative stroking, as he noted the places that gave and the places that couldn't. Muscle and bone, as the complement to Mettaton's metal and silicone.
But Mettaton's fresh sensitivity was similarly inescapable, the sharp reaction to a simple bite something he knew he'd be replaying, savoring the immediacy of it. It was difficult to not keep biting, but he wanted to hear what Mettaton was saying... and he wanted to be undressed, and distracting his lover wouldn't get him any closer to that. (He kisses him instead- with a hint of teeth, if not a full-on bite- as a reminder to them both of this.)
And snorts, at Mettaton's contradictory response.]
You can't have it both ways. Even you have to choose one or the other. [Emet-Selch responds to the rhetorical question anyway, for all that his own reply wasn't a serious one. But he knew how Mettaton felt. His own mood was similar, expectant and desperate to be undone, but appreciating every step of the process, every minute he was made to ache and wait.] But my robes and I appreciate your courtesy.
[It's dry. Also muffled, as he kisses further up Mettaton's thigh before drawing back, resigning himself to the need for a small amount of separation, if the taller man was to strip him. It was hard... and harder still to stop from groaning as fingers trailed up his spine, even if they finally left him to undo and remove his cowl.
(If their dragon came scratching at their door to be let in, would they even hear it...? The dragonlet was about to learn how to hunt for themself.)
And from his cowl, his robes are dragged from him entirely, the mage making an amused sound somewhere in the middle of all that fabric Mettaton sought to gather up and pull off.]
If your dreams are so readily surpassed that a warm body to yours would do it, then... there's space for more, isn't there?
[Letting go of the robot's cock and lifting his arms, shifting his knees so that Mettaton could take up anything that had gotten bunched beneath them, he sighs (it's close to a moan) a breath of relief as it all finally clears his head, and his body down to his waist is left to the comparatively cooler air. The swelling of his erection, too, is more evident, if still protected by his remaining layers.
What was also beginning to be evident was the edge of a very specific pattern crawling over the Ascian's hip. Only part of the gently-glowing circles are visible, and given their positioning, Emet-Selch doesn't immediately notice their presence. It wasn't as though he were looking for a tattoo, much less one in a roughly-approximate-if-inversed location to Mettaton's. Guided upward, he climbs back onto the bed, thigh pressed firm to the robot's. His eyes were back on Mettaton's face, his body leaning for his, not making good at all on his threat of removing his podea himself- or rather, distracted even from that by the want to reach for him.
While he'd been on the floor, he'd been taken by the idea of fitting him into his throat, no matter the damage it would do to his stamina when it came to holding out. (Where were the godsdamned sex shops on this world... what star could manage without lube and cock rings? Some things were fundamental!) Now, though, it was a challenge not to crawl his way into his lap, to straddle his hips and press their chests together- and all else they could manage. Truly, the only thing keeping him was the existence of his pants (on), though he does nothing to rectify that yet. Not when he could draw Mettaton into a kiss, his hand reaching for his face instead.]
You'd better appreciate it. [Even while Mettaton's proceeding with a plan to be patient enough to not tear at his clothes, he's still hungrily gripping at fabric, and starved enough that he can't keep from incidental touches against bare skin, wherever he can get it.] Some day, my darling. You won't have my mercy.
[But that was for another day, and perhaps a specific kink. Mettaton knew Emet-Selch had a thing for his appetitive husband and his monstrous ways at times, and he knew that being less merciful in a great many ways would only serve to arouse the Ascian. Because it was him, and because Mettaton was indulging, which served to indulge him as well... Mettaton found it an agreeable arrangement they had, in their preferences.
Which was fed only if Mettaton could be treated at all, and starved when it couldn't, as it seems. They may have found other outlets... but given the chance and opportunity, they'd want it back, this physical intimacy.
Emet-Selch is a mumble in a sea of black, and Mettaton nearly growls with anticipation. Would that he had the claws to drag Emet-Selch with a more carnal edge, just to express himself. With drag after drag fabric departs from his body, breaking way for the flesh so warm beneath- that Mettaton dreamed of feeling in greater clarity, and that Emet-Selch urged him to dream beyond. Space for more?]
And I want you to make me see stars in all that space.
[His voice is low, and his glance over Emet-Selch's build is fleeting- fleeting enough that at first he misses the tattoo as well, despite the brightness of it at this time, in favor of meeting the smaller man in a kiss. One that he meets first with a feisty energy- but one that quickly warms into something more tender, as soon as the mage's fingertips grace his cheek. They were hopelessly capable of swinging from one energy to another, and the quick and sudden build of electricity in his system is let to course through him, to ignite his senses, as he groans into Emet-Selch's lips.
His tattoo is in its fullest effect, responding to the brand upon Emet-Selch's body and its proximity. But Mettaton still fails to notice either of them, as he welcomes Emet-Selch onto the bed- and presses his thigh against Emet-Selch's in return.
Before, of course, flirting inward, toward his crotch. A gentle nudge is all it takes for Mettaton to shudder, breaking their kiss momentarily.]
Ah... Hades... [He's so hard... Mettaton knew that, but he ached for him, both as himself and in longing for him. And to feel it for himself was a treat all its own, and Mettaton wriggles against him with excitement.] Let me relieve some of that...
[Still spoken against his lips, Mettaton's hands smooth down his sides- his warm, warm sides, his smooth skin, which he inhales shakily to feel and know- before hooking thumbs in his waistband. Fiddling with the draws of his podea again (he's grown quickly good at figuring these out, and how to unfasten it), Mettaton only manages to shift the fabric down slightly before he notices some manner of... light, out of his periphery.
Past Emet-Selch's arm, from his perspective, and down toward his hip, where the smaller man was crawling onto the bed to join him. It was that glaring stage light he'd seen on himself, and Mettaton hums, tugging away from being immediately before his lips so that he could crane around his arm. Working at fabric, he exposes more of the tattoo- before blinking widely at it, shocked at the sight- but pleased, too.]
Oh! Sweetheart, look at your hip! [Mettaton's attention is then drawn immediately to his crotch, cock still trapped beneath fabric. Trapped, but trying to make itself obvious past the skirt-like draping of his podea, especially with Mettaton pulling it taut.] --And, your...! Oh...
[... Listen. Emet-Selch is quite hard, and it was hard not to notice when the robot was busy undressing him.]
[Violence for another day... another time when he could repair his robes with something other than a needle and thread. Emet-Selch hums his gratitude to Mettaton's 'mercy', temporary as it was, when they both knew the excitement it could provoke, to indulge in more monstrous things together. Not that there weren't ways that Mettaton couldn't show it off as it was, while sparing materials that wouldn't repair themselves.]
Mm... I'll look forward to it.
[Both to those times when Mettaton would demonstrate the monster he remained (As Emet-Selch decided that so many of those 'monstrous' traits his lover had demonstrated as a puca, weren't there because he was a puca. Or even because he was a monster now and always- but simply because he was Mettaton.), and to exploring everything they could overwhelm each other with.
The passion to their kiss was unmistakable, an energy that they each committed to, a blending of themselves. Where Mettaton's ran energetic, while Emet-Selch's persisted slower and heavier, the amount of charge felt aligned, their differences complementary.
And it was a charge that wasn't disrupted even when their kiss paused, when Mettaton noticed something that had become exposed with the removal of the mage's outer robes. Shivering any time his skin was touched, his body was alight with heat, and even when the taller man points out something strange, he doesn't think anything of it, at first.
But if he was to look anywhere else from Mettaton's face or body, it would be down towards his own crotch, the notable bulge there something worth groaning over. But it's a short stop from there to his hip, where- Emet-Selch wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from his lover's exclamation, but that hadn't been it. Startled, for a moment he wondered how in the world Mettaton had transferred his tattoo to him- but no, the robot's was still there, and instead there was an exact replica lurking on his own body.]
That- was not here this morning....
[A statement that could apply equally to the glowing pattern and to his erection, which felt unfathomably hard. And which remained distracting, despite being faced with this mystery on his hip. Mettaton's mixed attention was understandable, given that his own was similarly compromised. His legs wished to spread, thighs twitching in the desire to thrust, to receive his husband's hand and attention, as directly on himself as possible. He felt impatient to be exposed, while enjoying this tightness, the pulse of ache.
But there was the strangeness at his hip- or the suggestion of it, as it wasn't visible in its entirety like this, even with Mettaton having pushed more of the fabric out of the way. As near as he could tell, it was identical to the robot's... but why? And how? Brushing the edge of it with his fingers, he hisses softly, body tensing at the strange stimulation of it. It was probably only because he was already aroused that it was acting like another erogenous zone, but he couldn't pretend that it wasn't sensitive.
Yet despite all this, as it wasn't doing anything to hinder their sex, Emet-Selch would have to admit that unraveling the strangeness wasn't his highest priority. What was a potentially-permanent design on his body in comparison to his erection? To Mettaton's reaction to it, and the other man's ability to appreciate it with him?]
Whatever it is- can wait. Mettaton, I need--
[Relief, him- they were one in the same thing. If the tattoo's existence sharpened that sensation, he was unaware; everything he felt, felt exactly as it was meant to.]
[Differences to settle into and enjoy in each other, as they ever had. This is a familiar pace, thought Mettaton, who still feels jolts and sparks from his previous release- and he knew for fact that Emet-Selch was bound to be harder than hell beneath his robes, once he managed to get them off. Because this difference in their energies was highlighted by this: where Emet-Selch sought to jerk his husband off, the robot was quick to fall victim to his touch... and in the process, his own arousal would be slowly building, growing heavy and hard, and Mettaton would rise to the challenge to meet him once more in perfect time.
Their energies were contrasting, and complimentary indeed.
As complimentary as their brand new tattoos. Mettaton's fingers run along the fastenings at the sides of his podea, skirting digits over the smooth surface of skin as though the tattoo might be tangible. But aside from its warmth, there isn't anything for his fingers to absorb. But he does feel something, something that shot through him on a level more than skin-deep (or, metal/silicone deep). He gasps, and- in true Mettaton fashion- he presses firmly over his hip, instead of recoiling from the sensation.]
Oh...!
[Yes, Emet-Selch's urging him along. But the fact that he could nearly feel his touch on Emet-Selch's hip, a warmth that courses in his chest and makes him feel heated throughout, suggests to him some kind of connection between them. Did Emet-Selch feel it when he probed him, or was he unusually attuned to the sensation? The idol wasn't sure, and there was... a lot to be exploring right now.
As he massages his fingers along its surface, before drawing fabric away from Emet-Selch's crotch. Emet-Selch's bottoms are shifted down his thighs, enough to bare both of his hips, skin exposed enough to see the full circumference of the magic tattoo- and then some. After all, it's his cock on full, unashamed display that Mettaton takes to immediately, urging the smaller man into his lap after all- but facing him, as the monster scoops him into his lap, forcing his legs to spread around his hips.
Like this, Mettaton nearly groans at the sight of his erection nudged against his barely-fading cock, once slicked with spit. With a devious grin, the robot watches Emet-Selch darkly, pressing their foreheads together.]
I was thinking. We could make good use of your come, dear. Especially... if I could get you to glaze my cock. [His smile grows.] We have to make do, Hades-darling. I want to be slick for you... and I want to, to feel you burst against me.
[Just as much as he wanted to feel him spill over with heat, all over his cock. Mettaton squirms, feeling full already at just the thought of such heated, sticky mess, the product of his lover's pleasure, slicking up over his erection. Where one hand wraps gently around their lengths, trapping them together, the other slips down- and Mettaton grips Emet-Selch's hip, sighing at the pleasant sensation of keeping hold of his husband.
With him secured between spread thighs, Emet-Selch made to straddle his hips, a nest made of Mettaton to sit in, the robot stoops in to take his lip between his own. Slow and tender, but with undeniable heat, he hums into his kiss, warmed and offering warmth of his own to Emet-Selch. Against his lips, his voice is a low purr.]
To know my man's leaving me a mess... And I know. You'll put it to good use.
[When he'd first touched Mettaton's branding, had he felt a corresponding jolt? Emet-Selch honestly wasn't sure; when his lover had jerked in response, he'd been startled, distracted by that. But he didn't recall any particular rush of arousal to follow it, nothing that acted as though it had a direct line to his cock. How these paired tattoos functioned was something that they would have to explore... but seeing how they both appeared to feel it when he touched his own mark now was worth remembering. A new spot sensitive to them both, and arousing while they were already wanting.
(It did not surprise him at all to see Mettaton react by seeking out more of that intensity. It was a bit endearing.)
An even greater priority and avenue for exploration was all else that was revealed as Mettaton pulled fabric down: namely, his erection. The mage's breath catches, eyes nearly slipping shut at the simple relief, of having a length too long constricted permitted to bob free in the open air between them.
Yet before he can shed the rest of his clothes completely, as they remained merely undone, and pushed down past his hips- he's dragged instead directly onto Mettaton's lap. A noise of protest, of argument, is mingled with an instinctive moan at having his legs spread around his lover's own hips. The kind of position naturally and fiercely arousing- if exasperating, both at how easily his body wanted to respond to it, and that it meant going not entirely undressed. Bracing himself with his arms immediately slipping around the robot's body, his legs do nothing but accept this position with familiar aplomb.]
Could you... not wait a moment more-- [He'll gripe about it verbally, anyway, while simultaneously shifting to make himself at home here.] You're not the only one who'll be made a mess of.
[Yet unlike their interrupted time before, there's no hint of distraction at the thought of future laundry (if anything, there was excitement over the idea of how much he might be forced to drip everywhere). His complaints were only heated because all of him was heated, as lively as the Ascian ever became. And it was impossible for him not to twitch, when the first thing his cock is nudged against is Mettaton's own, that firm, warm sensation enough to drag a groan from him. Glancing downward to the vision of their cocks brushed together only deepened the sound, as his legs tighten around the taller man's hips.
Out of breath, with their foreheads together, his own pulse felt particularly loud- though it had no hope of drowning out Mettaton's words, the picture he painted something that veered past suggestive and went right into obscene. And something he dearly wanted to see for himself- though his first attempt at a reply is stolen up by a sharp gasp, when Mettaton takes their cocks together in his hand, squeezing them both. A sound followed by a hard shudder, and a tense jerk of his hips, an attempt to thrust into his touch, needy and shameless.
A softer noise, closer to a whine, is nearly swallowed up entirely when he finds his lips met by the other man's, his own sucked upon, while his body was held safely in position. When it finally pauses, his breathing is quicker.]
If- if you want glazed, I'll- [He swallows, pushing their lips together harder in something that wasn't really a kiss, too sloppy and aggressive for that.] I'll give you everything you need.
[Already, his body seemed inclined to provide something to make that grip easier, as precome leaks from the tip of his cock, hot and slick.]
[In all of the rustling Emet-Selch's bottoms were shifted- but even he notes that this is... not ideal. How could the smaller man spread his legs with both ankles in his pants?? So at least Mettaton does one thing, and nobody forgot about physics: he frees just one ankle. That's it.
He exhales, leaving Emet-Selch with as sloppy of a kiss as a robot could make.] There's- there's your moment.
[Which is the only way that Emet-Selch's able to assume his pose with ease, so readily spreading his legs that even Mettaton felt that familiar, heavy arousal, a hot coil winding in his lower body. The sensation of him nearly snuggling into place, an unconscious closeness the Ascian assumes with his legs tight around his hips just right- and now, with their cocks nestled together.
When Emet-Selch moans, Mettaton's voice is robbed from him. Attention held so closely, he listens as Emet-Selch goes from breathless groans, gasps, and even whines, while he thrusts into his touch- a glistening bead of precome a tantalizing prize to win. Mettaton licks his lips just in time for the Ascian to snap him up in a kiss, fierce as their heat. Mettaton could melt under its intensity, and he willingly bends into it, shuddering tight under the overwhelm of sensation the mage's treating him to.
With a shivering groan, Mettaton bucks his own hips, pushing his barely-softened erection against Emet-Selch's- giving him a taste of that jolting momentum, inertia built up over months of want. From kisses deep Mettaton snaps him up in another, leaving his lips with a smack of a kiss and a heated pant- as well as an affectionate nuzzle of noses.]
Give me, Hades... Ah, give me...! Come for me, dear heart, oh...
[Voice low, a hiss of a demand, Mettaton grips firm around his hip, thumbing the protrusion of bone while with his other hand, he thumbs the very tip of Emet's cock. Swirling around the soft glans, that bead of come is perfect lubrication for movement- and Mettaton gives them both an upwards, milking squeeze, a gentle pull of their cocks so as not to drag skin with the lack of lube they presently have.
For now, though, the tip of Emet-Selch's cock was offering plenty to stimulate the tip of him with, as Mettaton swirls his thumb around him, rubbing rhythmically over the ridge of the corona before returning to knead and play with the slit of him in eager wait for more. But even a flirting with his own cock- a dab of come brought to join with his own erection- has Mettaton sighing eagerly, as he feels firm weight settling low all over again.
(How his new body worked, Mettaton would have to learn and explore with time. Is there some kind of reservoir...?)
But the heat, and residual cool, of his seed- the idol closes his eye and groans,squeezing Emet-Selch closer to him, his home formed out of Mettaton's shapely legs formed around him.]
[('A... moment more then' is the exasperated, heated addition as Mettaton manages to strip him partially after all. Having one leg off only emphasized what he still had attached to him, but his body demonstrates no complaint as he more feasibly wraps his legs around the other man's hips. His protest was minor otherwise: a huff, and a quick bite to answer the robot's kiss.
...As there was a certain appeal to this, the visible hastiness in his partial dress speaking of their desperation. Though he'd still want his pants properly off when they had a second moment.)
What drowned out all arguments or concerns was the pleasure in taking this position again, with their bodies close and cocks together. Like this, even if they lacked lubrication, Mettaton making the most use he could over what preemptively leaked from the mage's tip, Emet-Selch would've taken any stroke he could get. No matter how dry, or the friction uncomfortable, he wanted it, the gentle squeeze along their paired lengths a tease most of all, and he nearly growls with parted lips against Mettaton's.
But it was a tease that remained effective, when paired with the extra attention to the slicker tip of his cock, to the glans rubbed and slit toyed with. Imagination was a powerful part of it too, as he could see so clearly what it would look like to release just like this, with Mettaton's hand taking possession over their erections. His hips still jerk, his breath a pant as he tries to force what friction he could get from him, to encourage some tighter grip, some rougher handling even if it hurt--
He was so close, and with Mettaton calling for his release, it was the last bit of stimulation he needed. (Had he ever failed to come when Mettaton had commanded it of him? Even Emet-Selch wasn't sure whether he was managing to obey, or whether his lover was good at picking a moment when climax was immanent regardless. In any case, it was a verbalized permission to let go- which meant he could give himself over to the moment without regret.)]
Met- Mettaton- I- ah--
[Even as he tries for speech, it's broken by a sharper cry, a tight shudder wracking his body as the first burst of semen erupts from him. Heated and slick- if not quite as heated as what Mettaton's body could produce- the Ascian makes good on the intention of leaving them both a mess. Over the hand jerking him off, over both of their cocks, or to drip down his abdomen- his release was uncontained, and let to cloud them both with it.
From gazing down blearily, watching Mettaton's hand squeeze over lengths thick, milking him of what felt like an especially productive release, his eyes close. His face burrows instead to the robot's neck, as he gasps and cries out against him, as the hard jerks of his body only gradually weaken. And with it, his climax only reluctantly ends, the final leaking of come barely notable amidst all that was now sticky between them.]
[Emet-Selch's growl speaks loud and clear to him, but if Mettaton wanted him for any rounds to follow, he didn't want to tear skin. But as he grows closer and closer to spilling, and as the robot commands of him his release, he rewards his tipping point with quick flicks of his wrist, bringing him cleanly past that point. Or, messily.
It's a mix of timing and real demand, thought Mettaton. He wasn't so cruel to keep Emet-Selch from coming when his body was demanding an outlet, but he also knew that his words would have ecstatic relief for his lover. He wouldn't deny him that pleasure.
As Emet-Selch comes undone under his touch and by his word, the robot groans, bright and loud enough to twine with the mage's cry. And from there, a gasp of utter, relieved pleasure at the sight, of the smaller man's ejaculate gushing forth, dribbling over his cock- as the stroke of his fingers slick that semen over both of their lengths, with whatever isn't deposited in an arch enough to smatter his abdomen.
A sight which has Mettaton smiling, mad with glee at his lover's productivity. Nothing was more flattering than Emet-Selch being so enamored of this that he would leave him with so much to work with.]
Hades...!
[Softly he's spellbound, and the hush of his tone is enough to convey that. And where Mettaton watches every detail, every jerk of hips and every twitch of muscle and its resulting push of seed, Emet-Selch is leaning forward- and though his sight of the smaller man's climax is eclipsed by his fall, Mettaton can't resent it at all. He loves it too much, and he nearly croons as he nuzzles Emet-Selch with the side of his face, his cheek nudged against white hair.
The more Emet-Selch spills, the slicker the glide of his fingers- and Mettaton can't help himself as he squeezes around their bases and coaxes more, more of his release, a firm milking of them both, even though he's not the one actively orgasming. He moans as though he is, shivering to match Emet-Selch's shudder, sympathetic to the tensing of muscle and the sudden veering into an ending climax. The smaller man slumps slightly, and Mettaton catches him close, wrapping his hand warmly around their cocks- where Emet-Selch's would gradually soften, and his own... remained hard, and would harden some more.
Especially with the sensation of sticky semen coating him, in a way that he'd never felt so vividly before aside from those times when he shapeshifted into a human. The texture of slick release, heated and cooling and making slick his cock, warmly held against the smaller man's erection, has the robot in a constant tremble, every inch of his body alight with increasing sensitivity. He exhales pure heat, and from clutching onto his hip, Mettaton winds his arm around the smaller man to secure him tight, cradling him in the fold of his bare legs and offering him the expanse of his neck with a tight breath. Emet-Selch may have just came, but Mettaton couldn't help finding every bit of it erotic, from the intensity of his orgasm to the gradual collapse of his husband.
Bit by bit, the squeeze of his fingers around their lengths becomes just a hold-and the roll of his thumb is a mutual thing, as he swirls slowly around the tip of Emet-Selch's sensitive cock, and wraps around his own, increasingly aching length.]
Finally... Finally, I've caught you in my orbit. [After attempts that failed, they spoke each other's language of passion. Mettaton couldn't be happier to connect with Emet-Selch like this again- to have their climaxes mismatched, because one of them couldn't refrain, and the other was endlessly aroused by that intensity, over and over again. He sighs, kissing the side of his head with repetitive pecks, nudging him again his shoulder.] I feel you, and ohh, I love it...
[Emet-Selch knew it wasn't in his best interest to be made raw, especially not so soon, when they hopefully had many rounds ahead of them. He didn't know what kind of stamina his lover's new circumstances entailed, and while he expected it to outstrip his own as it ever had, that didn't mean he didn't wish to keep up for as long as he could.
Which would be more difficult if skin ripped (and he didn't trust his healing to be good enough to fix something like that) somewhere so sensitive... which doesn't keep him from vocalizing his want, from jerking into Mettaton's touch in search of more of it. Of course, all of that frustration bleeds away when climax hits him hard- and when Mettaton rewards him with a milking grasp, made slicker now by the mage's own ejaculate. Their groans mix as his come is spread between them, its presence erotic most of all, and secondarily a source of lubrication- but it was the best they had for now.
And he felt more than encouraged, inspired to leave as full a load as his body was capable of. But no matter how he's squeezed, their paired lengths slickly pulled, and no matter how much he adored it, how arousing he found it, there was a limit to what he could produce in one climax. Choking on a gasp, his shudders turn to trembles as he gradually collapses into Mettaton's hold. Relieved but still desperate, as though this had done the opposite of sating him, but instead torn back open some limitless depth, the smaller man clings to his robotic partner. Caught completely, in ways deeper than even the security of this physical hold, he clings to him.
He'd missed this... so much. But he doesn't reiterate those words, for all that he felt them with ever more depth now. That he could let himself be captured, that Mettaton could keep him, could feel him with the detail that they both deserved- he'd needed it, more than he ever knew.
It was often enough that their climaxes ran in sequence rather than concurrently, as they were endlessly inspired by one another, pulled back in over and over. As he could feel- so, so clearly- how stiff his husband had been made, and knew from experience how attending to it would cause his own fading erection to return. Nuzzling damply, heavily, against Mettaton's neck, he can't bring himself to leave the security of it yet. Overwhelmed emotionally just as surely as he was physically- and how closely the two had become conflated, to him- that it was possible for these sensations, these feelings to continue....
Unconsciously, his fingers dig into Mettaton's back, into materials that never gave to him. He was the only one to give way, and does so willingly, desperately. His trembles further serve to nudge their cocks together, and as sensitive as he was, he wouldn't think of doing anything to change it.]
You... you have me. Mettaton....
[His voice is a whisper, barely given against silicone. He couldn't think to comment on his load, to ask whether he'd given Mettaton the glazing he'd wanted (a rhetorical question anyway; he knew he'd done nothing to disappoint). He couldn't say anything like that, deliberately provocative, teasing or smug. He felt too raw for it, the intimate attention Mettaton provided for them both encouraging this maintained vulnerability.]
[Emet-Selch didn't require words to tell him how much he treasured this and wanted it. He could feel it in the lines of his body that shuddered, and in the fierce arousal he presented to him wrapped under the fabric of his robes. In the way he presented swollen, and spilled over with such gusto that Mettaton knew he'd be breathless- and salivating, if both were features he had.
Not that he has any chance to regret not having either of these qualities, as Emet-Selch's release gradually comes to a close, and he slumps into him. Not with the resignation of completion, but with layers of need peeled back, the robot could once more peer into the vacuous depths of desire that seemed to have no end. A loneliness of sorts that had, with time, become a vulnerability all its own, that he doused in Mettaton's intimate company... and when he'd been unable to present himself for such ardent treatment, it had been hard to forget what Mettaton was missing out on. All of this, from the dampness of breath against his neck to the warmth of his body, to the weight of him in full between his legs and the grip on his shoulders... Mettaton gasps at it all, oversensitive and loving it.
Sensitive enough that when Emet-Selch fists the idol's back, he gasps, groans, and both arches his back and squeezes Emet-Selch's body closer. He can't help it when his grip on their cocks also tightens, and Mettaton is better able to feel how much glide the semen beneath his fingertips would provide. Yes... Emet-Selch had been productive, and Mettaton is stunned into amazement at it. There would be no disappointment here, even if he'd be sure to meet such a provocation with the demand for more.
Though a physical twining, they flourished like this, and found emotional refuge as well. Mettaton lets them both sink here, his arm traveling some more about Emet-Selch's body to press him flush to his torso.]
I find you stunning, just like this. [Prone. Open. Engaged. A hidden part of the Ascian that had been locked away, a passion and heat that had been worn down, but was in desperate need of outlet.] I'll treasure you... just as you do, me.
[Mettaton knew Emet-Selch wanted him even before this day, where his wish had bore fruit. But it was because he'd been so desperate to restore to Mettaton a much-beloved sense that he could see the way Emet-Selch loved him, and the way problems were solved in his eyes. Yes... in a way, it reminded him of how Emet-Selch was reluctant to let go of something that had been broken, unwilling to settle for the fractured pieces of people who were once whole. He'd known Mettaton with sensation and touch and the ability to show his arousal- and to settle for less wasn't acceptable, not when there was a possible way to see it restored.
He could've resented it, that Emet-Selch would view him as needing fixed. But when he had all of this back in the moment, and knew how much he needed it, Mettaton could only be achingly thankful - because didn't he need this restoration? He'd have never given up on getting this back, even when he "settled"- but he wanted to feel all of this so, so badly... He squeezes Emet-Selch that bit tighter, and gasps at the sensation of compression.
Any time he found himself overwhelmed, it ran a direct line... to his cock. Because of course he did: Mettaton was aroused by this kind of touch, feeling his lover nearly naked in his lap and so exposed to him in all other ways. His hips shift, and he groans at the express feeling of not just the weight of thighs around his hips, but the texture of skin, the warmth of body heat. He rolls his hips into his own grip just once, feeling the way his erection slid along his mage's with a sigh.
But he finally lets go of their cocks, if just so he can sling his other arm around the smaller man's shoulders. To squeeze him entirely into an embrace, his hand ending up against the back of his neck- welcoming him against his throat.] You feel wonderful against me, Hades. You feel... like my respite.
[Emet-Selch would have to be breathless for the both of them, a condition he fell naturally into, given the passion of their arrangement. Still dizzied as though he had air to catch up on, his heart reluctant to slow, he was in no condition to do more than remain where he was- and no desire to do otherwise.
As it was hard to not be eternally inspired, when Mettaton reacted like that underneath his hands, when he wasn't even handling his cock. The shiver that went through him has his fingers dig harder for a moment, for his hips to even twitch, even as his erection was still in the process of fading, much less filling back up. But there was heat, and dripping stickiness smeared over their lengths, and with Mettaton tugging him closer, until they were chest to chest, his muscles still set to trembling from it all.
Emet-Selch had also drawn that uncomfortable comparison with his reaction to his sundered people. The memory of what he'd had, a way of life objectively better- and his refusal (and inability) to accept what came afterward. The determination instead to return things to what they had been, what they should always have been.
But while he couldn't love the broken remnants of his people, he still loved Mettaton as much as before. He would affirm that part was crucially different; he didn't view him as any less, no matter the condition of his body. But the way he was used to expressing that love, and having it felt- he couldn't see past that loss. He refused to live with something less than what they deserved.
In both cases he felt himself absolutely justified in his actions, his reactions. (The only guilt was in the distress it caused Mettaton, to feel rejected.)
Nudging his face against him in a form of nuzzle, he exhales heavily, very slowly beginning to collect himself. Still feeling exposed- still wanting to do nothing to hide it, he manages a less charged sort of reply.]
Then why am I the one who feels stunned.
[He mumbles against him, before kissing his throat, with an attention that softens as his heart continues to. They were each other's treasure; he knew it without question.
When he feels Mettaton's hand leave their lengths in favor of burying sticky fingers underneath his hair to touch his neck, he only sighs at it, pleased by the affection most of all. Though if their bodies hadn't been together like this, he would've been inclined to let one of his own hands slip between them to replace Mettaton's, conscious of his rising needs. To take up the 'duty' of squeezing their lengths together, to fondle and appreciate his husband's. But he holds off for now, especially since he could still feel Mettaton's cock nudged slickly against his, their bodily orientation ensuring that they would meet regardless. A squirm of his own (for the simple purpose of moving tighter, closer), further brushes them, inspiring aftercurrents of pleasure to run through his own body.
And with it, sentiment. Where he'd been about to raise his head to meet his eye or find his lips, held like this and spoken to, he remains. It touched him in ways that he, as ever, had trouble expressing verbally, or at all. But he holds the robot tighter, hands kneading tensely at him- his body itself the best tool he had to demonstrate his feelings for him, but still putting forth the effort to find the words to go with it.]
...Then... my being here has meaning.
[Not only this world, but to be alive again at all.]
You're my purpose.
[Which was a lot to put on someone... but he knew Mettaton could handle it.]
[Too enamored to realize that his hand is still with traces (plenty) of come slicking him up (as that was the point to start), Mettaton unintentionally gets started on making Emet-Selch a mess. Because even though he's reaching for his neck, that still means transferring semen to skin, and letting it catch in hair... He'd have plenty of fodder for complaint at some later point, whenever Emet-Selch wished to bring it up.
For now, though, the robot doesn't realize what a mess he's making, too lost in the moment. Seconds that stretch, an eternity just for them found right here... Time didn't matter to him right now, right here, where sentiment ruled the day. They met in ways more than sexually, as even though their erections were slickly together, their bodies and hearts came together as well. Mettaton sighs, breathing the smaller man in; he wanted to smell him, but even the heat he could feel from his scalp felt like a scent all its own. This was more than perfect.
Of course, even Mettaton wasn't the sort to settle. He should be able to have it all... and he would agree that they deserved more than what he arrived here with. Even so, it's his point of insecurity: to ask the ghost of himself if he deserved a physical form would be met with hesitation, with a wistful dream but with the hesitation of deserving or not. And when his own body that he'd reached for failed to deliver... it tapped into that same insecurity.
He knew Emet-Selch knew he felt hurt by it all. It didn't change Emet-Selch's reaction, still. It didn't change his own fierce desire, and the equal hurt for lacking a sharp sense of touch, for lacking the equipment needed to engage his lover sexually. The want was all there... and the knowledge that he deserved more was, too. But the repeated rejection had stung; it had shaken his core, and made him weaker.
It wasn't, perhaps, the best way they could've dealt with it overall... but that was a thing of the past, and an issue no longer. Because the way they wanted to deal with it was by fixing it, and Mettaton was entirely on board with that. Holding Emet-Selch in his lap, he could feel their mutual loneliness soothed; he could feel their hearts beating together. It inspired, and the sensation of Emet-Selch burying himself into his neck some more, squirming closer. Even without words he understood.
But to hear it said... Mettaton sighs, shakily, overcome.]
Then let me fill yours days with my gratitude... and my love for you. [Twisting his head, the robot moves from burying himself into his scalp, and dips lower to kiss the side of his neck.] Anywhere I go, I want you to be there with me.
[His constant companion. Even if they couldn't be literally fused, as they'd attempted once (and nonsensically became split apart from), he would still see Emet-Selch always with him. It's what he wanted... even if it selfishly dragged the smaller man from his final rest.
In other words, Mettaton knew the gravity of being the meaning for Emet-Selch's continued existence. And he stood taller for it, lived stronger for it, and thought for the purpose of not just himself, but for Emet-Selch. Even his own wish made to the Overseer was with Emet-Selch in mind, after all... for it was a fail-safe. Should he ever be separated, should his powers be inadequate to cross the expanses of worlds (and he doubted that very much), he had his husband's heart in mind.
Without words, he knew they both knew of each other's dedication. And for it, he squeezes him tight, their hearts bared to one another, tenderness gripping them in the space between climaxes. But even still, Mettaton felt arousal course through him strongly, endearment enough to fuel a bodily response to claim, to take, to make his husband gasp and moan, and to feel his body tense and writhe. Mettaton makes a small, sweet hum, a series of kisses planted along his neck and down to the tip of his shoulder.]
[And Emet-Selch would bring it up at some point, that of all the places Mettaton could have chosen to get semen onto, that it went right into his hair. And not even as a result of the robot shooting it onto his face, with some collateral damage, which would at least be justifiably erotic. ...Even so, for all that he does notice it, he doesn't voice that complaint, nor does he feel actually bothered.
It was too affectionate, for one thing. And it had felt so long since there had been any sort of sexual mess between, that there was something nostalgic about it. A strange thing for him to miss, but there it was.
(There were still things to regain. Mettaton's senses of smell and taste, as it was a small regret still that the robot couldn't experience their coupling in those particular ways. But in comparison to what they had regained, it was a minor detail- something to add when they had the choice.)
Despite their conversations, grief-stricken and hindered by flowers, that he knew very well that Mettaton was hurt by how he'd acted, the Ascian didn't think of it as having undermined his lover's confidence in himself. Whether it was denial or ignorance, turning away from something that was left him feeling worse about his own behavior, he thought of it as a pain more straightforward, akin to the loneliness he felt for himself.
And which had already been soothed immeasurably by what they'd done, and by the promise of what more they could do. In grasps that each of them could feel in their entirety, to the appreciation of the heat their bodies could collect when flush (and the contrasting coolness of the open air).
It was hard to shift any closer, but they both tried, the mage conscious of his lover's own shudders, both of them left exposed to each other. Raw and wanting, needs that they soothed and showed best through sex, it seemed- and all that went with it, such as embraces like this. Words too, which felt easier to find when they were surrounded by the signs of their particular intimacy.
A small noise comes from his throat as Mettaton kisses his neck. Naturally, he gives it to him, hair falling to the side as he tilts his head.]
I'll follow you, wherever your life or chance takes you. I've managed it this far, haven't I?
[If not consciously or deliberately; there hadn't been any choice to make, when he'd found himself here, in Mettaton's wake. Nor did he recall them being separated before being brought here. But if he had any power, any choice- how could he take any other path? If there was a way to feel not utterly alone, without giving in to rebirth and the true end of this life, it would be in Mettaton's persistent company.
And... he wanted that. To see Mettaton's happiness, to aid or encourage his ambitions (to criticise and complain), to provide whatever support was called for. To find some version of his own happiness with him... the closest thing to a normal life that he could still have.
And his desire for it all was most readily expressed bodily, in the shift of bodies and hitch of breaths. The quivers of tension that already wished to gather in him, even if he still needed time to recover. Mettaton's arousal was inescapable and appealing, and he wanted to encourage it, to feel it, and to give his lover all of his own responses in return. Exhaling another small, pleased noise, he leans into his touch.]
[It was something akin to the wondering of how Emet-Selch would continue to love him as a ghost, bereft of a body. ...And in that circumstance, there would most definitely be no sexual contact between them, though the robot had hope that it was possible to have some contact at all. But in that case the same goal applied: fix things. An admirble goal, that Mettaton was ultimately on board with, even though insecurity would plague him in the meanwhile.
Luckily, a prominent chunk of what they were missing has been dealt withhhhh right now, and Mettaton could feel the pressure with which Emet-Selch was squeezed to his chest. He could sigh breathlessly, as though his chest's been compressed of air, but he adored the pressure. He pets over his neck, and kisses ardently his neck, appreciative of its offering- and of the specific sensation of Emet-Selch's voice against his lips. They part, and Mettaton takes more of a mouthful of a kiss, though he doesn't deliberately try to apply any suction, given his lack of damp. He loves the sensation all the same, and wants to express that.
(Eventually, saliva would have to be a wish. Have to be. If his body could produce ejaculate somehow, it would have to produce saliva... and he wanted to better kiss and mark up his husband.)]
Hades... [His voice is soft and warm, lips moving against his neck. ] I love you too- and believe in you, dear. Ever reliable, you are.
[Even when he came to this world, he had spent his evenings with the fierce belief that his lover would arrive here to join him... even if he lost his memories, even if he couldn't remember him. Mettaton had plans for that situation, should it ever arise- and he was ready for anything. He was even ready to wait months... but he was also determined to find him, should he not manifest.
But he also got through lonely evenings with him close to his heart. With the belief that he would show up and rejoin him. So that he could lean upon him; so that he could watch Emet-Selch in those quiet moments, where the smaller man lived between seconds without the pressure of duty save for the support he was as his husband. To watch him meet his beaming with a small smile of his own, and to share instants with him. And...
To share this. Explorations of each other, when they were all that mattered in the world- Mettaton sighs, kissing Emet-Selch some more as he leans into him. Smiling against his neck, he encourages Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- slipping him closer to his cock, so that they didn't merely touch, but sidled against each other's lengths, roots firmly riding against one another. Mettaton nearly groans, slowly and shortly rolling his hips with want.]
Mmm... Why don't you... see what else this body of mine has to offer? Some... closer examination.
[Though he quite enjoyed the feeling of Emet-Selch on his lap. He wouldn't mind having this exercised some more... but he also wouldn't mind it to be groped, pressed in other ways- sat on, kissed, swallowed, teased, he wanted it all, and squirms with every imagining, with the present sensation of Emet-Selch heavied in his lap, legs spread around his hips. He can't help it when he shifts him even closer, forcing the mage to settle more firmly against his root.]
[If Mettaton hadn't felt thick and firmed up before, having his own yet-softening length pushed up against the robot's root served to show it off that much more. A small groan escapes him, along with a roll of his hips, to provide further contact, further pressure.]
What else... what else did you have in mind?
[He felt amenable to anything he could think of- as what way was there that he wouldn't want his husband, now that he could see him to the heights of his pleasure? Whether it was stroked off by his hand or against any other part of his body, or taken into his mouth again (though that would serve to remove the come he'd thoughtfully let slick against Mettaton's length), or fit into his body elsewhere.... Impaled on his length, whether sitting on his lap, spread around him, or pressed down and mounted- there was too much he could want.
And his thoughts did center somewhat around Mettaton's cock, though he chooses not to blame or judge himself for that. Appreciating the rest of his lover's body went with it, anyway... from his thighs and hips, to the firmness of the chest jutting into his (not uncommonly would he be left with the imprint of dials to skin), and to his face, which he couldn't get enough of kissing.
So it's a kiss that he searches out now, encouraging Mettaton to turn to face him, to let him take his lips with his own (saliva, yes... outside of the careful way the robot had to kiss his body without hurting him unintentionally, he's reminded of that missing element again; it was still something he'd ask Mettaton over before wishing it into being, just in case the other man would prefer to skip the unglamorousness of drooling). Soft to start with, repeated brushes of them together, but with an insistence that couldn't help but increase. And with it, small matching rolls of his hips, stroking their lengths together. Hands at Mettaton's back to help anchor himself, his breath is a touch shaky as he barely interrupts a kiss in order to speak.]
In what way would you prefer my inspection?
[By taking him inside, in hand? In getting down on eye-level once more, and inevitably seek to lap him clean? He sighs heavily, heatedly, the sound paired with a push of his body, working to stimulate Mettaton's cock with his own. He was in the mood to be accommodating- which carried its own sense of neediness with it, an ache that had gone mostly unfulfilled these past months to... serve. To be something other than the contrary mess he always was.]
[As soon as Emet-Selch demands it of him without words, Mettaton is amiably enticed to kiss his lips. Emet-Selch could provide plenty of saliva for the two of them on this front, as just a bit was just enough to kiss him, to drag his tongue slowly over his lower lip in consideration. A soft, low hum pairs it: how did he prefer his inspection most of all?
...His own thoughts are centered around his cock. It was hard for it to be anything but the case, as he was hard, and he felt that delicious ache that felt so familiar...
That notice felt inspiring all on its own, and Mettaton gasps, groaning against Emet-Selch's lips- and reactively jolting his hips at the feeling of him grinding into his root, pushing himself against his cock. God it struck him, then, how heavily, unrelenting it felt to be aroused; he couldn't be blamed for losing inhibition like this, for making a scene and demanding his lover's touch. Everything felt so vivid that he feels compelled to share, lips parting reluctantly from Emet-Selch's.]
I want to tell you just how I feel. And see if it compels you in any direction of curiosity... because darling. This body must be different from the way it was. And yet...
[His sigh is shuddered, a hiccup made more of static in his head than it was of any bodily impact. Mettaton moves his hand away from the back of the Ascian's skull and instead, returns to his tattooed hip, where he clutches onto him, thumb placed squarely in the dip of his hip. A perfect spot to grasp him, he thought with continued, aching arousal, feeling particularly at home with the smaller man straddling his hips.
Fundamentally, this body had to be different because he is no longer a Puca. A monster he is, but not of Aefenglom's definition of it. He is a robot; there is nothing about his body that is organic any longer, save for his very soul and the magic that is dumbed down as much as anybody's. ...And yet.]
I feel... So heavy, Hades, oh... Already, it's... so much pressure.
[His voice is higher for this confession, as he wriggles beneath Emet-Selch's weight, jerking his hips some more for continued contact. It didn't feel dissimilar from the way fluid had been able to be produced by his hybrid organic body... the way that veins had grown and travelled throughout his figure, a new coolant system that sought its relief in broad ears and in erotic release. He nuzzles Emet-Selch next, lips together with his.]
It feels like that ache that doesn't abate. Just like it... without the relief of a pulse. Hades... won't you squeeze me somehow? Maybe... your fingers, to start- ah... [Even though in reality, he wanted... anything. Everything. All of it, at some point. His lips, his throat, his ass, his grip- his body to spill upon, all of it was coveted by him, and he shifts atop the bed in expression of this.]
[Emet-Selch would snort at the idea of Mettaton losing inhibition, questioning how much the other man had ever possessed to start. Puca or no puca, he knew of his libido, how easily he was enticed- and if a thought came to him of something he'd like to do, the Ascian was sure that it would be soon introduced to them. He wouldn't believe for a moment that he would hold back anything out of inhibition.
(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]
[It's true. Mettaton often pursued what he wanted. In broad daylight in a crowd with their eyes trained on him? ...Passes that weren't so subtle is what would come from him, especially now that he's dipped his toes into societies where sex was even an attraction. If desirous, he would make it obvious... and if caught stealing away with his husband, hand-in-hand and totally entranced by his silhouette, he wouldn't deny that he was lured by him, and needed some alone time.
But all of that was for Emet-Selch alone.
If he had the ears for it they'd perk at Emet-Selch's grumbling, the awareness that he had been pricked by something (other than his cock). He'd have to examine that later, once they weren't so busy enjoying the notion and sensation of Mettaton exposing his feelings. He would've shared it anyway, but he felt particularly pleased to share his feelings and let Emet-Selch live through his experience vicariously- because he could tell his husband was enjoying his enjoyment, and felt touched not just for that, but for the fact that he wished for it at all. He deserved to know his feelings.
The mage is quick to take action, to obey as desired- and Mettaton gasps preemptively, even before his hand has a chance to wrap around his length. Fingertips send sparks through his body, each enough to blank his mind, as he shudders and shifts, rocking his hips side to side in anticipation- and groaning, hard and sharp, when he wraps his fingers around his girth. His entire package is cupped, and Mettaton nearly whines, before exhaling in satisfaction to imagine how Emet-Selch would perceive his pleasure, and enjoy his size. The way he can wrap around his cock, and stroke over his cock using the slickness of semen. His own lips part, and he gasps, body stuttering as much as his vocals do.]
Oh- ohh-- Like...
[Like this, indeed. Pressure is combatted by pressure; Mettaton's thighs shift under Emet-Selch, squeezing closer before spreading farther apart, though it does nothing to keep Emet-Selch's from their spread about his hips. Mettaton can't fight the grip his husband has on him, nor does he want to when it's exactly what he wanted, but the thrill of having his hands otherwise occupied while someone else had his girth encircled, pumping him independent of his own actions, is something he's acutely aware of; the feeling of being jerked, admired, and squeezed was sharp and shocking, and immensely arousing.
Akin to the feeling of having missed something, but being far too distracted to feel any sorrow over it, especially when that thing was happening right now. Mettaton instead felt exalted and completely righted.]
Yes, this... Hades...
[Emet-Selch's shifted to look low, and MTT felt anything but self-conscious. At the same time, it sent a deep, heady weight through his body to know he was being looked at... a firming of that pressure, an ache that intensifies and fills him out. He bites his lower lip, nuzzling the side of the mage's face.]
Mmm... And when you look at me, [he begins, exhaling enough heat that he could feel it bounced back at him. It was nothing to sneeze at, how warm he could get, his internal temperature something that sought relief now in, well, release.] I feel it like a grip all its own. Yes, l adore your touch... but, oh... Even this, knowing you're getting a good look at me... Ha. As if I could get any more pronounced for you. If I could get stiffer... my body's trying, just to impress.
[That, he could tell. He could feel that battle of pressure, the tension of Emet-Selch's squeezing touch rivaled by the fullness he felt in his erection. Any softness that he had yet to finish filling out is well-filled by this point, his body rising to the challenge of giving Emet-Selch the perfect form to squeeze, giving only far enough to be clenched around- but that tip of his remains soft, giving far enough to be squeezed around, to betray the rigidity of his overall length.
An exhale of heat is paired with a sweet, melodic note of a moan while the robot kneads his hip. Both hands move to either side of him and grip him there, though the side without a mark flirts to squeeze idly at Emet-Selch's ass. (That he still has some pants to remove all the way is a truth, but at least he's stripped for him mostly.)]
Do you like what you see in me? How about what you feel...?
[Anticipation- and then, reward, one to quickly follow the other, as the mage's hand takes hold of his lover's cock. Strokes him encouragingly, speculatively, even though he could tell at a glance that the other man had hardened up just right for him. Filled out enough to be breathless over- the both of them, each of their exhalations heated. (Though Mettaton could beat him there for warmth too, though it fascinated him to feel it, this localized display of how hot his husband's body already was- a sure sign of arousal (as though what he was handling wasn't sign enough).) Nuzzling back affectionately, he manages a sigh at the sight presented before him.]
Mm... if you were any stiffer, I think something might tear.
[A comment paired with a tighter grip around Mettaton's base- one that he slowly lets drag upward until he's around the neck of his cock. A grip to 'test' that stiffness, that core of rigidity that he knew would be perfect to sit on, or be pushed down his throat. It wouldn't give way, with just enough softness around to be squeezable, to be comfortable to take.
All with the even softer, bulbous head, which he devotes a few moments of particular attention to, kneading it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the slit.]
Hard enough to be worth my time... [--No, he couldn't even pretend that it was even in question. He loved this too much, and the man whose cock he now held.] You already impress.
[That his grip was made smooth by his own semen was more arousing than it should have been, but also not unexpectedly so. Humming lowly, breathlessly, he unhands his hold on Mettaton's cock with a parting squeeze around the glans- all to take his own cock in hand. A single, slow grasp up his length has his breath catch, his body to tense- enjoyably, if sharply sensitive. But he wasn't distracted, and it's after that lone pass that he lets go of himself again, having scooped up some of the come that had dribbled there.
And with his fingers additionally slick, his hand returns to Mettaton's erection as if pulled there. Firm, but not so tight as to hurt him, he makes a satisfied noise at the slicker attribute of his grip, and the greater cloudiness to mark that improved glide. There would've been little chance of convincing him to not take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. Though he wasn't literally devouring him, his actions spoke of someone starved all the same.
Tilting his head briefly to kiss Mettaton's jaw, his gaze returns downward as if similarly pulled there, drawn to witness every pump of his fist, and to admire the thickness he had the privilege of tending to. An attractive sight between his own spread legs (his own cock ignored again now that he'd gotten what he wanted from it), the way Mettaton's kept trying to spread underneath him amused... as what could either of them do but want to be a display? And if Mettaton wanted to show himself off, he'd reward him with every bit of his attention. Whether it was his eyes on him, or his hand, or whatever part of his body that was called on, he would match it.
(The grip to his ass, though it first provokes a moan from him, is also an exasperating reminder of the fabric that remained stuck on one of his legs. Would he ever get a chance to remove it...)]
You're a vision. [He murmurs, a near-groan in his voice.] Every part of you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(Emet-Selch had felt a similar kind of relief, on tasting and feeling the first hints of precome. This implied that Mettaton had the capacity to be... productive, in his releases. That his orgasm (as he refused to imagine the cruelty of him being unable to reach that point with this equipment, with this sensation) wouldn't be a dry affair. That much would have been a disappointment, if he were honest with himself- and would have necessitated an additional wish.
But some part of him relaxes at that tell-tale dribble; somehow, Mettaton's body was capable of producing fluid. He wasn't inclined to ask how.)
It still hitches his breath, causes his body to tense hard when the initial burst of semen hits his tongue, floods his mouth. It's only the work of practice that has him swallowing it down as neatly as he does, despite his own overwhelm and desire to cry out with him. But dedication took priority, dedication and simple covetousness, not wanting to let even a single drop escape him, after so long without (Even if they both appreciated him being made a mess- but that was ever a process, a work to be built on round after round. As he'd already told him, this was only the start.).
Swallowing back each spurt as he's given it, he slows his movement but doesn't cease it immediately, maintaining a firm, demanding pressure around the robot's cock. His hands, too, don't neglect their duties, as his grip squeezes up Mettaton's shaft, milking him, encouraging him to give up everything that he had. The grip on his balls is comparatively gentle, a softer rub provided by his thumb, if no less possessive for it. All of what he touched belonged to him, and not because he'd wished it into existence.
But with that possessiveness was a rapturous adoration of this moment and this man he was knelt before, whose cock he was taking. His own erection felt heavier with every swallow of thick seed, but the mage doesn't consider making any move to touch himself through fabrics that felt uncomfortably restrictive. And while he shifts in place, it doesn't distract him, only adds to his own pleasure in the moment, of being properly wanting and needy as he knew he could be. All he needed was Mettaton's own cock....
Even a release as full, as extended as Mettaton's had to reach some kind of end. While the robot still moves, Emet-Selch obediently strokes him, providing him contact even to a length especially sensitive. But his mouth finally departs him, once he feels the gush of his climax slow to a drip. Not that he moves far at all, as his tongue laps gently at the slit, leaving it with damp kisses and the stroke of his lips against it, smearing what drip of come remained across them.
Safe, warmed by all he'd swallowed, and feeling protected during this whole experience by the way Mettaton's legs had wrapped around him, by the fingers in his hair, he's finally able to glance upward again, towards the other man's face. Out of breath, his own look remains fairly tidy apart from the flush to him (and the muss to his hair where it had been gripped), Mettaton's come neatly contained besides the sheen smeared deliberately on his lips. If there was anything different to his semen, the Ascian hadn't noticed it, satisfied entirely by its familiar consistency and heat- something fitting to the hot robot who produced it.]
Mettaton. [He whispers against him, soft as anything. Relieved, despite his body's own ache- as if something he'd needed to express finally had been.] How... was that?
no subject
With his climax coming to an end, Emet-Selch so attractively draws off of his cock- leaving him cold to the ambient air, and Mettaton's hips jerk again just to impress upon Emet-Selch how much he enjoyed the security of his mouth. So Emet-Selch pulls off, and as though meeting his kiss, his cock is shoved against his lips, leaving a sticky line of seed against him.
He's reeling. Emet-Selch took him with such dedication, and the idol felt nothing short of grateful for it all. He knew they'd both have wished for this outcome, and he felt pleased to know that they prioritized how they came together in blissful ecstasy, in attempting to bridge what space existed between them. To watch Emet-Selch now was to see him with defenses dropped, focused and pleased to be in service... while similarly enjoying himself, as the robot knew how aroused he'd be by now. A thought to ache over again, as though oversensitivity weren't enough to have him shuddering.
Mettaton groans at the sight of Emet-Selch smearing come over his lips, the still-swollen tip an applicator. To... smooth semen over his lips- and when he lifts his head just barely, enough to speak to Mettaton with his lips still against his cock, the impression of his lips glistening catches Mettaton's breath. If there's something pecuiar about the content of his climax, not even Mettaton notices it entirely- and finds that Emet-Selch's lips should be flush with color, and glistening to boot. (A bit like lip gloss, but he doesn't think anything other than how lovely he looks, and how it matches the flush to his feature, the mussiness of his hair.)]
You know how easily you can do me in. It's almost unfair. [His pout is all for show, though he's taken aback at how quickly Emet-Selch could have him screaming in orgasm... Not really, though. Because that was expected of him.] I... I can barely think, still. I feel so... vividly, ah... I need you, my love...
[And needed him, just like this, in this way so intimate. With another shudder, Mettaton's posture slouches in his overcome, and his hands rove down Emet-Selch's neck and grope at the smaller man's upper back. Releasing him from the welcome prison of his legs, he still wants him close. For now, he slumps over him, eclipsing light as he tries to hold onto him despite his body's momentary disagreeableness.
With a sigh, he pets through his skin, fingers rubbing over his scalp.] And you... how did you like me?
no subject
Taking him back into his mouth already would lead to more than just holding him there. The smaller man also wasn't sure how he'd last through that, and he didn't particularly want to climax with his clothes still on (though it would be more likely an aggravation than a mood-killer, in his current state). The mage huffs at their own impatience, that getting Mettaton's pants off had been as far as they'd gotten, when it came to disrobing them both- but he also couldn't blame them.
Nearly smiling at Mettaton's reply, it gratified in some honest way to hear it, for all that he already knew the answer.]
If I can return to you some measure of the way I feel- then it was worth the price.
[The intangible cost of bringing this back to them. The distastefulness of treating with that Crystal (and their Overseer) at all. He'd do it all again. He'd keep doing it, to restore anything else that would continue to enhance their life.
If Mettaton sought his closeness, close he would remain- as Emet-Selch had no desires that ran remotely contrary to that (beyond wishing he were bared to him too). Though he exhales a shaky breath against the head of his cock, it's followed by a warm and gentle kiss to it. A small portion of his affection for him, delivered unselfconsciously. He would've kissed his lips too, shared the texture of his semen with him, if not its flavor, but he couldn't quite reach him like this.
But from there, he leaves Mettaton's cock for the moment, if not to move far. Only to rest the side of his head against the inside of the robot's bared thigh, nuzzling close into this similarly intimate position. His eyes drift closed for the moment, enjoying the attention to his hair, the sensation of fingers deep within it. His heart was pounding, his body's want consistent, undaunted, uneased, but his manner was otherwise as relaxed as it could be. Appreciating his husband's afterglow, the added nearness his slouch provided, and all evidence of his overcome, he hums quietly to himself.
While he lets one hand drop, the other does remain at Mettaton's length, petting slowly over him with similar signs of affection. Though he'd left him 'clean', at least of come, a sheen of spit remained, glistening. Absently, his fingers spread it further down his cock, not deliberately, but as a part of their simple stroking over him. Marveling over the texture, his closeness- Emet-Selch sighs again, contentedly, nudging his cheek more firmly into his leg.]
You overwhelm, as ever. I know you recall the effect this has on me.
[He was very, very aroused, and can't help but shiver at every touch, at the hands on his back, things he wanted to press into if it wouldn't mean moving away from his spot. But after a pause, he continues, in a quieter voice.]
...I missed this.
[The sex was the means, but this way of bonding with him- he didn't know how they could ever replace it.]
no subject
MTT understands immediately what Emet-Selch finds the price to be, which extended beyond mere currency. He smiles, simple and bright- before exhaling his heat, eyelid lowering heavily in his lust at the sight presented before him. Emet-Selch... is a horrible tempter, even when he moves from planting semen-slick kisses against the tip of his slow-to-fade erection to rest against his thigh. Mettaton follows each point of contact with rapt attention, unable to ignore the pinpricks of feeling that shock him to his core. From the hand that lazily strokes over a hyper-sensitive arousal, to the way weight and pressure felt against... his bare thigh (another absurdity).
And the way that wet was drawn down his length from a slow stroke, which has Mettaton shift ever so slightly with a light grunt. He can't help but pet over his head some more, his hands roaming to his back, compelled to touch him all over- and with a productive result.
Especially becaue he did know the effect. His next sigh is a shudder, though his smile only grows, eagerness blooming despite his recent release. And warmth, ultimately, as Mettaton gropes softly over his shoulder blades needily.]
I did, too. [He missed this closeness. But he also missed this sensation, and the ways Emet-Selch always sought to bring it to him.
... Perhaps there was no one-to-one replacement, after all, even if there were other ways they could reach for each other's hearts and passions. A dance, Mettaton knew, would serve them similarly... but each time they'd ever danced there had always been an edge of arousal to it, and that would be lost in translation, for all that they would feel it. Like lacking a body to express with; like aching for form to feel with, to show with, to motion and react with, both the deliberate actions and the unintentional responses. This had become an integral part of himself, as necessary as having a body at all. He needed it like he needed a voice.
So he sighs, leaning in some more. With Emet-Selch having settled back and against his thigh, Mettaton can curl forward enough to nudge his nose into his scalp.] I missed it all.
[It had felt lonely. It had hurt. He doesn't know how he can come to terms with the months of ache. He doesn't resent Emet-Selch; he doesn't even resent himself anymore. ...It was a good thing he was corporealized, he thought, closing his eye. If he ever lost his body, the way he lost his sense of touch like this...
But Mettaton doesn't venture down that path. All of this had been fortunately returned, and he sighs, squeezing Emet-Selch's back and venturing up to the collar of his robes. Slipping fingers beneath, he slips a single hand beneath fabric so that he could touch and squeeze at the skin of his upper back while seconds tick by, while he smiles and breathes him in.]
But you wanted this as much as I do. I think you understand my heart, too. How it feels to want to feel you, and be felt. [To feel Emet-Selch closely, firmly, sensitively, and to have his sex, his want, his passion felt in return. And Emet-Selch wanted to be felt, Mettaton knew... To be heard without words, understood with the brush of fingertips and the collapse of his body and the sweat of his skin. Mettaton buries himself in his hair, planting a long, firm kiss there.
Before smiling again, more mischievous this time.] And I want to feel you, all right... Your body, against mine. None of this fabric, unless it's bedsheets. [His next sentiment is a hiss of a whisper, husky and heated.] Oh, I'm aching to have you flush to me...
no subject
Some details were interchangeable; whether Mettaton could shapeshift, or whether he had a permanent (if potentially detachable?) endowment, that much mattered less so long as it functioned. Whether Mettaton's greater sensitivity came about with a partial fusion as an organic entity, or something as purely magical as this... this was probably, strictly speaking, better. (As a puca allergic to himself was its own unique cruelty. And for all that Emet-Selch found the ears and fur and even some of the behavior reluctantly charming- he knew some of those aspects aggravated his husband.)
Most of all, he wants to dwell on this pleasure, this relief, this anticipation- for what both of them might continue to feel as they continued. The conversion of the ache of yearning into the ache of overuse. There was nothing that would erase what they'd lived through, the loneliness they'd felt even while resting in each other's company- but they'd reached the end of it now.
(Emet-Selch still needed his magic, his aetherial sensitivity. He hadn't forgotten it; his own senses felt deadened in that way. But he'd never relied on it to reach Mettaton- and right now, reaching him had been the greatest priority of all. His own losses would be easier to bear, like this.)
A small noise is his response to the way Mettaton seemed to curl over him, containing him, the warmth of his face in his hair. Rubbing his cheek more firmly to him, nearly burrowing against him, the mage finds his refuge there. Not quite able to speak, he nods; he'd wanted this, the same as him. As much as him. They'd yearned for this together, had reached for it however they could. For this moment, he was safe.
A security that wasn't quite restful, not with as stiff as he was, and as stiff as he knew Mettaton could be brought to again (while he savored how reluctantly the robot ever became anything less than firm). And with the way Mettaton slipped his hands under fabric, seeking bare skin, it was difficult to not squirm, to lean into that touch however he could. So he doesn't deny the impulse, groaning low as his own body felt oversensitive, keen for any sort of touch.
Oblivious to whatever extra had been left in his husband's ejaculate, Emet-Selch kisses Mettaton's thigh with sticky lips, before licking from him that small residue- still feeling inclined to claim it all for himself, his breath damp and warm against him.]
You could help, [He responds in a similar whisper, rougher, but just as heated.] to strip these robes from me, if you're feeling impatient. Even if I'm left to remove the rest myself.
[His podea, shoes... he was really quite overdressed for what would presumably occupy the rest of the day. For the way he wanted to be, with him, decorated only in the results of their ardor.
Emet-Selch huffs, even nips the inside of Mettaton's thigh, while giving his cock a loving squeeze.]
You're not the only one aching... for that, for everything we've dreamt of.
[Though it was more than his cock that wanted to be pressed to him, shown to him; that ache went deeper than that.]
no subject
Mettaton only skirts around these kinds of thoughts, thinking instead of his own loss, then gain, and his gratitude over having it back. Over the man who wished for it to be so- and what he could have wished for in himself. But all things would come to them, thought Mettaton, even if they shouldn't have to wish for something fundamentally them back into being.
That's the nature of it. And right now, Mettaton was grateful that this method of his expression was returned to him. He and his husband could connect like this; they'd grown accustomed to having this much, and found it to be plenty.
As fingers smooth over skin, Mettaton sighs, shivering as tactile input shot through his arms and left him feeling... a lot of things. The softness of skin beneath robes, the warmth of his body beneath all of that fabric, the palpable firmness of muscle and bone beneath- the every last detail of his spine, of his much-softer waist... Mettaton could become lost in soaking in these details all over again, he knew with a smile and shiver, as Emet-Selch invites him to help, if he were impatient. Was he?
Well, he ached. That much was for sure. Mettaton chuckles- though he gasps, closing his thighs slightly around Emet-Selch's face at the sensation of teeth in silicone. (That... is a sensation to revisit. Mettaton shudders, rubbing the smaller man between his legs appreciatively.)]
Let's see... Can I be impatient and patient, at once? [A rhetorical question. Mettaton knew how he felt.] Because I'd tear these robes from your body... but I want to savor you, too. And, well. You know. [He pecks the top of his head.] Not rip your clothes.
[Important. Even if Emet-Selch had his magic to repair it, Mettaton did not want to rip his clothes. But he didwant him stripped post-haste, that much was true, and he'd agree that Emet-Selch was very over-dressed for their late afternoon together, that would progress into the evening.
(The dragon youngling would likely want dinner once roused from its nap. Mettaton is not thinking about them right now. Good parenting. Perhaps he'd be reminded of them shortly...)
It's easy to draw his hands up Emet-Selch's back, fingers probing over the softness-and-firmness of skin until he's at the collars of his clothes. And even if it has proper closures, it's spaciousness means that Mettaton can whisk the cowl over the top of Emet-Selch's head to start, flicking it off to the side of the bed. His robes are next- similarly spacious enough to coax up and over his head, even if there was some other way to remove them. The robot gathers fabric in his fists and tugs, drawing it up until he could pull it over his husband's head with an urgency that definitely felt impatient but eager more than anything.]
Off with this bulk! Give me your warmth, Hades... I'm getting more than I dreamt of, at this rate. [Because damn. Warmth and chill were already making his head spin, in addition to all else. Even while he grips onto fabric, Mettaton attempts to urge Emet-Selch to join him up on the bed, gentle pushes and nudges while he pulls and coaxes fabric up- and finally, draws it up enough that he can provide the suggestion for Emet-Selch to move arms, to slip them from sleeves.]
no subject
However. If given enough time, he suspected that the trauma of interrupted divinity would be outdone by exactly what they'd been going through now. Or if not exactly (as they would be able to reach, to interact with one another's souls to some degree, even when they weren't merged), close enough that shedding his body another time would've become the only possible option. They would have one another, in all the ways they wanted, even if it took being a god to do it.)
It was unreasonable, how responsive he felt to simple touches to his back, as though his own sensitivity had not only been restored but enhanced. Every nerve was charged, reactive to Mettaton's investigative stroking, as he noted the places that gave and the places that couldn't. Muscle and bone, as the complement to Mettaton's metal and silicone.
But Mettaton's fresh sensitivity was similarly inescapable, the sharp reaction to a simple bite something he knew he'd be replaying, savoring the immediacy of it. It was difficult to not keep biting, but he wanted to hear what Mettaton was saying... and he wanted to be undressed, and distracting his lover wouldn't get him any closer to that. (He kisses him instead- with a hint of teeth, if not a full-on bite- as a reminder to them both of this.)
And snorts, at Mettaton's contradictory response.]
You can't have it both ways. Even you have to choose one or the other. [Emet-Selch responds to the rhetorical question anyway, for all that his own reply wasn't a serious one. But he knew how Mettaton felt. His own mood was similar, expectant and desperate to be undone, but appreciating every step of the process, every minute he was made to ache and wait.] But my robes and I appreciate your courtesy.
[It's dry. Also muffled, as he kisses further up Mettaton's thigh before drawing back, resigning himself to the need for a small amount of separation, if the taller man was to strip him. It was hard... and harder still to stop from groaning as fingers trailed up his spine, even if they finally left him to undo and remove his cowl.
(If their dragon came scratching at their door to be let in, would they even hear it...? The dragonlet was about to learn how to hunt for themself.)
And from his cowl, his robes are dragged from him entirely, the mage making an amused sound somewhere in the middle of all that fabric Mettaton sought to gather up and pull off.]
If your dreams are so readily surpassed that a warm body to yours would do it, then... there's space for more, isn't there?
[Letting go of the robot's cock and lifting his arms, shifting his knees so that Mettaton could take up anything that had gotten bunched beneath them, he sighs (it's close to a moan) a breath of relief as it all finally clears his head, and his body down to his waist is left to the comparatively cooler air. The swelling of his erection, too, is more evident, if still protected by his remaining layers.
What was also beginning to be evident was the edge of a very specific pattern crawling over the Ascian's hip. Only part of the gently-glowing circles are visible, and given their positioning, Emet-Selch doesn't immediately notice their presence. It wasn't as though he were looking for a tattoo, much less one in a roughly-approximate-if-inversed location to Mettaton's. Guided upward, he climbs back onto the bed, thigh pressed firm to the robot's. His eyes were back on Mettaton's face, his body leaning for his, not making good at all on his threat of removing his podea himself- or rather, distracted even from that by the want to reach for him.
While he'd been on the floor, he'd been taken by the idea of fitting him into his throat, no matter the damage it would do to his stamina when it came to holding out. (Where were the godsdamned sex shops on this world... what star could manage without lube and cock rings? Some things were fundamental!) Now, though, it was a challenge not to crawl his way into his lap, to straddle his hips and press their chests together- and all else they could manage. Truly, the only thing keeping him was the existence of his pants (on), though he does nothing to rectify that yet. Not when he could draw Mettaton into a kiss, his hand reaching for his face instead.]
no subject
[But that was for another day, and perhaps a specific kink. Mettaton knew Emet-Selch had a thing for his appetitive husband and his monstrous ways at times, and he knew that being less merciful in a great many ways would only serve to arouse the Ascian. Because it was him, and because Mettaton was indulging, which served to indulge him as well... Mettaton found it an agreeable arrangement they had, in their preferences.
Which was fed only if Mettaton could be treated at all, and starved when it couldn't, as it seems. They may have found other outlets... but given the chance and opportunity, they'd want it back, this physical intimacy.
Emet-Selch is a mumble in a sea of black, and Mettaton nearly growls with anticipation. Would that he had the claws to drag Emet-Selch with a more carnal edge, just to express himself. With drag after drag fabric departs from his body, breaking way for the flesh so warm beneath- that Mettaton dreamed of feeling in greater clarity, and that Emet-Selch urged him to dream beyond. Space for more?]
And I want you to make me see stars in all that space.
[His voice is low, and his glance over Emet-Selch's build is fleeting- fleeting enough that at first he misses the tattoo as well, despite the brightness of it at this time, in favor of meeting the smaller man in a kiss. One that he meets first with a feisty energy- but one that quickly warms into something more tender, as soon as the mage's fingertips grace his cheek. They were hopelessly capable of swinging from one energy to another, and the quick and sudden build of electricity in his system is let to course through him, to ignite his senses, as he groans into Emet-Selch's lips.
His tattoo is in its fullest effect, responding to the brand upon Emet-Selch's body and its proximity. But Mettaton still fails to notice either of them, as he welcomes Emet-Selch onto the bed- and presses his thigh against Emet-Selch's in return.
Before, of course, flirting inward, toward his crotch. A gentle nudge is all it takes for Mettaton to shudder, breaking their kiss momentarily.]
Ah... Hades... [He's so hard... Mettaton knew that, but he ached for him, both as himself and in longing for him. And to feel it for himself was a treat all its own, and Mettaton wriggles against him with excitement.] Let me relieve some of that...
[Still spoken against his lips, Mettaton's hands smooth down his sides- his warm, warm sides, his smooth skin, which he inhales shakily to feel and know- before hooking thumbs in his waistband. Fiddling with the draws of his podea again (he's grown quickly good at figuring these out, and how to unfasten it), Mettaton only manages to shift the fabric down slightly before he notices some manner of... light, out of his periphery.
Past Emet-Selch's arm, from his perspective, and down toward his hip, where the smaller man was crawling onto the bed to join him. It was that glaring stage light he'd seen on himself, and Mettaton hums, tugging away from being immediately before his lips so that he could crane around his arm. Working at fabric, he exposes more of the tattoo- before blinking widely at it, shocked at the sight- but pleased, too.]
Oh! Sweetheart, look at your hip! [Mettaton's attention is then drawn immediately to his crotch, cock still trapped beneath fabric. Trapped, but trying to make itself obvious past the skirt-like draping of his podea, especially with Mettaton pulling it taut.] --And, your...! Oh...
[... Listen. Emet-Selch is quite hard, and it was hard not to notice when the robot was busy undressing him.]
no subject
Mm... I'll look forward to it.
[Both to those times when Mettaton would demonstrate the monster he remained (As Emet-Selch decided that so many of those 'monstrous' traits his lover had demonstrated as a puca, weren't there because he was a puca. Or even because he was a monster now and always- but simply because he was Mettaton.), and to exploring everything they could overwhelm each other with.
The passion to their kiss was unmistakable, an energy that they each committed to, a blending of themselves. Where Mettaton's ran energetic, while Emet-Selch's persisted slower and heavier, the amount of charge felt aligned, their differences complementary.
And it was a charge that wasn't disrupted even when their kiss paused, when Mettaton noticed something that had become exposed with the removal of the mage's outer robes. Shivering any time his skin was touched, his body was alight with heat, and even when the taller man points out something strange, he doesn't think anything of it, at first.
But if he was to look anywhere else from Mettaton's face or body, it would be down towards his own crotch, the notable bulge there something worth groaning over. But it's a short stop from there to his hip, where- Emet-Selch wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from his lover's exclamation, but that hadn't been it. Startled, for a moment he wondered how in the world Mettaton had transferred his tattoo to him- but no, the robot's was still there, and instead there was an exact replica lurking on his own body.]
That- was not here this morning....
[A statement that could apply equally to the glowing pattern and to his erection, which felt unfathomably hard. And which remained distracting, despite being faced with this mystery on his hip. Mettaton's mixed attention was understandable, given that his own was similarly compromised. His legs wished to spread, thighs twitching in the desire to thrust, to receive his husband's hand and attention, as directly on himself as possible. He felt impatient to be exposed, while enjoying this tightness, the pulse of ache.
But there was the strangeness at his hip- or the suggestion of it, as it wasn't visible in its entirety like this, even with Mettaton having pushed more of the fabric out of the way. As near as he could tell, it was identical to the robot's... but why? And how? Brushing the edge of it with his fingers, he hisses softly, body tensing at the strange stimulation of it. It was probably only because he was already aroused that it was acting like another erogenous zone, but he couldn't pretend that it wasn't sensitive.
Yet despite all this, as it wasn't doing anything to hinder their sex, Emet-Selch would have to admit that unraveling the strangeness wasn't his highest priority. What was a potentially-permanent design on his body in comparison to his erection? To Mettaton's reaction to it, and the other man's ability to appreciate it with him?]
Whatever it is- can wait. Mettaton, I need--
[Relief, him- they were one in the same thing. If the tattoo's existence sharpened that sensation, he was unaware; everything he felt, felt exactly as it was meant to.]
no subject
Their energies were contrasting, and complimentary indeed.
As complimentary as their brand new tattoos. Mettaton's fingers run along the fastenings at the sides of his podea, skirting digits over the smooth surface of skin as though the tattoo might be tangible. But aside from its warmth, there isn't anything for his fingers to absorb. But he does feel something, something that shot through him on a level more than skin-deep (or, metal/silicone deep). He gasps, and- in true Mettaton fashion- he presses firmly over his hip, instead of recoiling from the sensation.]
Oh...!
[Yes, Emet-Selch's urging him along. But the fact that he could nearly feel his touch on Emet-Selch's hip, a warmth that courses in his chest and makes him feel heated throughout, suggests to him some kind of connection between them. Did Emet-Selch feel it when he probed him, or was he unusually attuned to the sensation? The idol wasn't sure, and there was... a lot to be exploring right now.
As he massages his fingers along its surface, before drawing fabric away from Emet-Selch's crotch. Emet-Selch's bottoms are shifted down his thighs, enough to bare both of his hips, skin exposed enough to see the full circumference of the magic tattoo- and then some. After all, it's his cock on full, unashamed display that Mettaton takes to immediately, urging the smaller man into his lap after all- but facing him, as the monster scoops him into his lap, forcing his legs to spread around his hips.
Like this, Mettaton nearly groans at the sight of his erection nudged against his barely-fading cock, once slicked with spit. With a devious grin, the robot watches Emet-Selch darkly, pressing their foreheads together.]
I was thinking. We could make good use of your come, dear. Especially... if I could get you to glaze my cock. [His smile grows.] We have to make do, Hades-darling. I want to be slick for you... and I want to, to feel you burst against me.
[Just as much as he wanted to feel him spill over with heat, all over his cock. Mettaton squirms, feeling full already at just the thought of such heated, sticky mess, the product of his lover's pleasure, slicking up over his erection. Where one hand wraps gently around their lengths, trapping them together, the other slips down- and Mettaton grips Emet-Selch's hip, sighing at the pleasant sensation of keeping hold of his husband.
With him secured between spread thighs, Emet-Selch made to straddle his hips, a nest made of Mettaton to sit in, the robot stoops in to take his lip between his own. Slow and tender, but with undeniable heat, he hums into his kiss, warmed and offering warmth of his own to Emet-Selch. Against his lips, his voice is a low purr.]
To know my man's leaving me a mess... And I know. You'll put it to good use.
no subject
(It did not surprise him at all to see Mettaton react by seeking out more of that intensity. It was a bit endearing.)
An even greater priority and avenue for exploration was all else that was revealed as Mettaton pulled fabric down: namely, his erection. The mage's breath catches, eyes nearly slipping shut at the simple relief, of having a length too long constricted permitted to bob free in the open air between them.
Yet before he can shed the rest of his clothes completely, as they remained merely undone, and pushed down past his hips- he's dragged instead directly onto Mettaton's lap. A noise of protest, of argument, is mingled with an instinctive moan at having his legs spread around his lover's own hips. The kind of position naturally and fiercely arousing- if exasperating, both at how easily his body wanted to respond to it, and that it meant going not entirely undressed. Bracing himself with his arms immediately slipping around the robot's body, his legs do nothing but accept this position with familiar aplomb.]
Could you... not wait a moment more-- [He'll gripe about it verbally, anyway, while simultaneously shifting to make himself at home here.] You're not the only one who'll be made a mess of.
[Yet unlike their interrupted time before, there's no hint of distraction at the thought of future laundry (if anything, there was excitement over the idea of how much he might be forced to drip everywhere). His complaints were only heated because all of him was heated, as lively as the Ascian ever became. And it was impossible for him not to twitch, when the first thing his cock is nudged against is Mettaton's own, that firm, warm sensation enough to drag a groan from him. Glancing downward to the vision of their cocks brushed together only deepened the sound, as his legs tighten around the taller man's hips.
Out of breath, with their foreheads together, his own pulse felt particularly loud- though it had no hope of drowning out Mettaton's words, the picture he painted something that veered past suggestive and went right into obscene. And something he dearly wanted to see for himself- though his first attempt at a reply is stolen up by a sharp gasp, when Mettaton takes their cocks together in his hand, squeezing them both. A sound followed by a hard shudder, and a tense jerk of his hips, an attempt to thrust into his touch, needy and shameless.
A softer noise, closer to a whine, is nearly swallowed up entirely when he finds his lips met by the other man's, his own sucked upon, while his body was held safely in position. When it finally pauses, his breathing is quicker.]
If- if you want glazed, I'll- [He swallows, pushing their lips together harder in something that wasn't really a kiss, too sloppy and aggressive for that.] I'll give you everything you need.
[Already, his body seemed inclined to provide something to make that grip easier, as precome leaks from the tip of his cock, hot and slick.]
no subject
He exhales, leaving Emet-Selch with as sloppy of a kiss as a robot could make.] There's- there's your moment.
[Which is the only way that Emet-Selch's able to assume his pose with ease, so readily spreading his legs that even Mettaton felt that familiar, heavy arousal, a hot coil winding in his lower body. The sensation of him nearly snuggling into place, an unconscious closeness the Ascian assumes with his legs tight around his hips just right- and now, with their cocks nestled together.
When Emet-Selch moans, Mettaton's voice is robbed from him. Attention held so closely, he listens as Emet-Selch goes from breathless groans, gasps, and even whines, while he thrusts into his touch- a glistening bead of precome a tantalizing prize to win. Mettaton licks his lips just in time for the Ascian to snap him up in a kiss, fierce as their heat. Mettaton could melt under its intensity, and he willingly bends into it, shuddering tight under the overwhelm of sensation the mage's treating him to.
With a shivering groan, Mettaton bucks his own hips, pushing his barely-softened erection against Emet-Selch's- giving him a taste of that jolting momentum, inertia built up over months of want. From kisses deep Mettaton snaps him up in another, leaving his lips with a smack of a kiss and a heated pant- as well as an affectionate nuzzle of noses.]
Give me, Hades... Ah, give me...! Come for me, dear heart, oh...
[Voice low, a hiss of a demand, Mettaton grips firm around his hip, thumbing the protrusion of bone while with his other hand, he thumbs the very tip of Emet's cock. Swirling around the soft glans, that bead of come is perfect lubrication for movement- and Mettaton gives them both an upwards, milking squeeze, a gentle pull of their cocks so as not to drag skin with the lack of lube they presently have.
For now, though, the tip of Emet-Selch's cock was offering plenty to stimulate the tip of him with, as Mettaton swirls his thumb around him, rubbing rhythmically over the ridge of the corona before returning to knead and play with the slit of him in eager wait for more. But even a flirting with his own cock- a dab of come brought to join with his own erection- has Mettaton sighing eagerly, as he feels firm weight settling low all over again.
(How his new body worked, Mettaton would have to learn and explore with time. Is there some kind of reservoir...?)
But the heat, and residual cool, of his seed- the idol closes his eye and groans,squeezing Emet-Selch closer to him, his home formed out of Mettaton's shapely legs formed around him.]
no subject
...As there was a certain appeal to this, the visible hastiness in his partial dress speaking of their desperation. Though he'd still want his pants properly off when they had a second moment.)
What drowned out all arguments or concerns was the pleasure in taking this position again, with their bodies close and cocks together. Like this, even if they lacked lubrication, Mettaton making the most use he could over what preemptively leaked from the mage's tip, Emet-Selch would've taken any stroke he could get. No matter how dry, or the friction uncomfortable, he wanted it, the gentle squeeze along their paired lengths a tease most of all, and he nearly growls with parted lips against Mettaton's.
But it was a tease that remained effective, when paired with the extra attention to the slicker tip of his cock, to the glans rubbed and slit toyed with. Imagination was a powerful part of it too, as he could see so clearly what it would look like to release just like this, with Mettaton's hand taking possession over their erections. His hips still jerk, his breath a pant as he tries to force what friction he could get from him, to encourage some tighter grip, some rougher handling even if it hurt--
He was so close, and with Mettaton calling for his release, it was the last bit of stimulation he needed. (Had he ever failed to come when Mettaton had commanded it of him? Even Emet-Selch wasn't sure whether he was managing to obey, or whether his lover was good at picking a moment when climax was immanent regardless. In any case, it was a verbalized permission to let go- which meant he could give himself over to the moment without regret.)]
Met- Mettaton- I- ah--
[Even as he tries for speech, it's broken by a sharper cry, a tight shudder wracking his body as the first burst of semen erupts from him. Heated and slick- if not quite as heated as what Mettaton's body could produce- the Ascian makes good on the intention of leaving them both a mess. Over the hand jerking him off, over both of their cocks, or to drip down his abdomen- his release was uncontained, and let to cloud them both with it.
From gazing down blearily, watching Mettaton's hand squeeze over lengths thick, milking him of what felt like an especially productive release, his eyes close. His face burrows instead to the robot's neck, as he gasps and cries out against him, as the hard jerks of his body only gradually weaken. And with it, his climax only reluctantly ends, the final leaking of come barely notable amidst all that was now sticky between them.]
no subject
It's a mix of timing and real demand, thought Mettaton. He wasn't so cruel to keep Emet-Selch from coming when his body was demanding an outlet, but he also knew that his words would have ecstatic relief for his lover. He wouldn't deny him that pleasure.
As Emet-Selch comes undone under his touch and by his word, the robot groans, bright and loud enough to twine with the mage's cry. And from there, a gasp of utter, relieved pleasure at the sight, of the smaller man's ejaculate gushing forth, dribbling over his cock- as the stroke of his fingers slick that semen over both of their lengths, with whatever isn't deposited in an arch enough to smatter his abdomen.
A sight which has Mettaton smiling, mad with glee at his lover's productivity. Nothing was more flattering than Emet-Selch being so enamored of this that he would leave him with so much to work with.]
Hades...!
[Softly he's spellbound, and the hush of his tone is enough to convey that. And where Mettaton watches every detail, every jerk of hips and every twitch of muscle and its resulting push of seed, Emet-Selch is leaning forward- and though his sight of the smaller man's climax is eclipsed by his fall, Mettaton can't resent it at all. He loves it too much, and he nearly croons as he nuzzles Emet-Selch with the side of his face, his cheek nudged against white hair.
The more Emet-Selch spills, the slicker the glide of his fingers- and Mettaton can't help himself as he squeezes around their bases and coaxes more, more of his release, a firm milking of them both, even though he's not the one actively orgasming. He moans as though he is, shivering to match Emet-Selch's shudder, sympathetic to the tensing of muscle and the sudden veering into an ending climax. The smaller man slumps slightly, and Mettaton catches him close, wrapping his hand warmly around their cocks- where Emet-Selch's would gradually soften, and his own... remained hard, and would harden some more.
Especially with the sensation of sticky semen coating him, in a way that he'd never felt so vividly before aside from those times when he shapeshifted into a human. The texture of slick release, heated and cooling and making slick his cock, warmly held against the smaller man's erection, has the robot in a constant tremble, every inch of his body alight with increasing sensitivity. He exhales pure heat, and from clutching onto his hip, Mettaton winds his arm around the smaller man to secure him tight, cradling him in the fold of his bare legs and offering him the expanse of his neck with a tight breath. Emet-Selch may have just came, but Mettaton couldn't help finding every bit of it erotic, from the intensity of his orgasm to the gradual collapse of his husband.
Bit by bit, the squeeze of his fingers around their lengths becomes just a hold-and the roll of his thumb is a mutual thing, as he swirls slowly around the tip of Emet-Selch's sensitive cock, and wraps around his own, increasingly aching length.]
Finally... Finally, I've caught you in my orbit. [After attempts that failed, they spoke each other's language of passion. Mettaton couldn't be happier to connect with Emet-Selch like this again- to have their climaxes mismatched, because one of them couldn't refrain, and the other was endlessly aroused by that intensity, over and over again. He sighs, kissing the side of his head with repetitive pecks, nudging him again his shoulder.] I feel you, and ohh, I love it...
no subject
Which would be more difficult if skin ripped (and he didn't trust his healing to be good enough to fix something like that) somewhere so sensitive... which doesn't keep him from vocalizing his want, from jerking into Mettaton's touch in search of more of it. Of course, all of that frustration bleeds away when climax hits him hard- and when Mettaton rewards him with a milking grasp, made slicker now by the mage's own ejaculate. Their groans mix as his come is spread between them, its presence erotic most of all, and secondarily a source of lubrication- but it was the best they had for now.
And he felt more than encouraged, inspired to leave as full a load as his body was capable of. But no matter how he's squeezed, their paired lengths slickly pulled, and no matter how much he adored it, how arousing he found it, there was a limit to what he could produce in one climax. Choking on a gasp, his shudders turn to trembles as he gradually collapses into Mettaton's hold. Relieved but still desperate, as though this had done the opposite of sating him, but instead torn back open some limitless depth, the smaller man clings to his robotic partner. Caught completely, in ways deeper than even the security of this physical hold, he clings to him.
He'd missed this... so much. But he doesn't reiterate those words, for all that he felt them with ever more depth now. That he could let himself be captured, that Mettaton could keep him, could feel him with the detail that they both deserved- he'd needed it, more than he ever knew.
It was often enough that their climaxes ran in sequence rather than concurrently, as they were endlessly inspired by one another, pulled back in over and over. As he could feel- so, so clearly- how stiff his husband had been made, and knew from experience how attending to it would cause his own fading erection to return. Nuzzling damply, heavily, against Mettaton's neck, he can't bring himself to leave the security of it yet. Overwhelmed emotionally just as surely as he was physically- and how closely the two had become conflated, to him- that it was possible for these sensations, these feelings to continue....
Unconsciously, his fingers dig into Mettaton's back, into materials that never gave to him. He was the only one to give way, and does so willingly, desperately. His trembles further serve to nudge their cocks together, and as sensitive as he was, he wouldn't think of doing anything to change it.]
You... you have me. Mettaton....
[His voice is a whisper, barely given against silicone. He couldn't think to comment on his load, to ask whether he'd given Mettaton the glazing he'd wanted (a rhetorical question anyway; he knew he'd done nothing to disappoint). He couldn't say anything like that, deliberately provocative, teasing or smug. He felt too raw for it, the intimate attention Mettaton provided for them both encouraging this maintained vulnerability.]
no subject
Not that he has any chance to regret not having either of these qualities, as Emet-Selch's release gradually comes to a close, and he slumps into him. Not with the resignation of completion, but with layers of need peeled back, the robot could once more peer into the vacuous depths of desire that seemed to have no end. A loneliness of sorts that had, with time, become a vulnerability all its own, that he doused in Mettaton's intimate company... and when he'd been unable to present himself for such ardent treatment, it had been hard to forget what Mettaton was missing out on. All of this, from the dampness of breath against his neck to the warmth of his body, to the weight of him in full between his legs and the grip on his shoulders... Mettaton gasps at it all, oversensitive and loving it.
Sensitive enough that when Emet-Selch fists the idol's back, he gasps, groans, and both arches his back and squeezes Emet-Selch's body closer. He can't help it when his grip on their cocks also tightens, and Mettaton is better able to feel how much glide the semen beneath his fingertips would provide. Yes... Emet-Selch had been productive, and Mettaton is stunned into amazement at it. There would be no disappointment here, even if he'd be sure to meet such a provocation with the demand for more.
Though a physical twining, they flourished like this, and found emotional refuge as well. Mettaton lets them both sink here, his arm traveling some more about Emet-Selch's body to press him flush to his torso.]
I find you stunning, just like this. [Prone. Open. Engaged. A hidden part of the Ascian that had been locked away, a passion and heat that had been worn down, but was in desperate need of outlet.] I'll treasure you... just as you do, me.
[Mettaton knew Emet-Selch wanted him even before this day, where his wish had bore fruit. But it was because he'd been so desperate to restore to Mettaton a much-beloved sense that he could see the way Emet-Selch loved him, and the way problems were solved in his eyes. Yes... in a way, it reminded him of how Emet-Selch was reluctant to let go of something that had been broken, unwilling to settle for the fractured pieces of people who were once whole. He'd known Mettaton with sensation and touch and the ability to show his arousal- and to settle for less wasn't acceptable, not when there was a possible way to see it restored.
He could've resented it, that Emet-Selch would view him as needing fixed. But when he had all of this back in the moment, and knew how much he needed it, Mettaton could only be achingly thankful - because didn't he need this restoration? He'd have never given up on getting this back, even when he "settled"- but he wanted to feel all of this so, so badly... He squeezes Emet-Selch that bit tighter, and gasps at the sensation of compression.
Any time he found himself overwhelmed, it ran a direct line... to his cock. Because of course he did: Mettaton was aroused by this kind of touch, feeling his lover nearly naked in his lap and so exposed to him in all other ways. His hips shift, and he groans at the express feeling of not just the weight of thighs around his hips, but the texture of skin, the warmth of body heat. He rolls his hips into his own grip just once, feeling the way his erection slid along his mage's with a sigh.
But he finally lets go of their cocks, if just so he can sling his other arm around the smaller man's shoulders. To squeeze him entirely into an embrace, his hand ending up against the back of his neck- welcoming him against his throat.] You feel wonderful against me, Hades. You feel... like my respite.
no subject
As it was hard to not be eternally inspired, when Mettaton reacted like that underneath his hands, when he wasn't even handling his cock. The shiver that went through him has his fingers dig harder for a moment, for his hips to even twitch, even as his erection was still in the process of fading, much less filling back up. But there was heat, and dripping stickiness smeared over their lengths, and with Mettaton tugging him closer, until they were chest to chest, his muscles still set to trembling from it all.
Emet-Selch had also drawn that uncomfortable comparison with his reaction to his sundered people. The memory of what he'd had, a way of life objectively better- and his refusal (and inability) to accept what came afterward. The determination instead to return things to what they had been, what they should always have been.
But while he couldn't love the broken remnants of his people, he still loved Mettaton as much as before. He would affirm that part was crucially different; he didn't view him as any less, no matter the condition of his body. But the way he was used to expressing that love, and having it felt- he couldn't see past that loss. He refused to live with something less than what they deserved.
In both cases he felt himself absolutely justified in his actions, his reactions. (The only guilt was in the distress it caused Mettaton, to feel rejected.)
Nudging his face against him in a form of nuzzle, he exhales heavily, very slowly beginning to collect himself. Still feeling exposed- still wanting to do nothing to hide it, he manages a less charged sort of reply.]
Then why am I the one who feels stunned.
[He mumbles against him, before kissing his throat, with an attention that softens as his heart continues to. They were each other's treasure; he knew it without question.
When he feels Mettaton's hand leave their lengths in favor of burying sticky fingers underneath his hair to touch his neck, he only sighs at it, pleased by the affection most of all. Though if their bodies hadn't been together like this, he would've been inclined to let one of his own hands slip between them to replace Mettaton's, conscious of his rising needs. To take up the 'duty' of squeezing their lengths together, to fondle and appreciate his husband's. But he holds off for now, especially since he could still feel Mettaton's cock nudged slickly against his, their bodily orientation ensuring that they would meet regardless. A squirm of his own (for the simple purpose of moving tighter, closer), further brushes them, inspiring aftercurrents of pleasure to run through his own body.
And with it, sentiment. Where he'd been about to raise his head to meet his eye or find his lips, held like this and spoken to, he remains. It touched him in ways that he, as ever, had trouble expressing verbally, or at all. But he holds the robot tighter, hands kneading tensely at him- his body itself the best tool he had to demonstrate his feelings for him, but still putting forth the effort to find the words to go with it.]
...Then... my being here has meaning.
[Not only this world, but to be alive again at all.]
You're my purpose.
[Which was a lot to put on someone... but he knew Mettaton could handle it.]
no subject
For now, though, the robot doesn't realize what a mess he's making, too lost in the moment. Seconds that stretch, an eternity just for them found right here... Time didn't matter to him right now, right here, where sentiment ruled the day. They met in ways more than sexually, as even though their erections were slickly together, their bodies and hearts came together as well. Mettaton sighs, breathing the smaller man in; he wanted to smell him, but even the heat he could feel from his scalp felt like a scent all its own. This was more than perfect.
Of course, even Mettaton wasn't the sort to settle. He should be able to have it all... and he would agree that they deserved more than what he arrived here with. Even so, it's his point of insecurity: to ask the ghost of himself if he deserved a physical form would be met with hesitation, with a wistful dream but with the hesitation of deserving or not. And when his own body that he'd reached for failed to deliver... it tapped into that same insecurity.
He knew Emet-Selch knew he felt hurt by it all. It didn't change Emet-Selch's reaction, still. It didn't change his own fierce desire, and the equal hurt for lacking a sharp sense of touch, for lacking the equipment needed to engage his lover sexually. The want was all there... and the knowledge that he deserved more was, too. But the repeated rejection had stung; it had shaken his core, and made him weaker.
It wasn't, perhaps, the best way they could've dealt with it overall... but that was a thing of the past, and an issue no longer. Because the way they wanted to deal with it was by fixing it, and Mettaton was entirely on board with that. Holding Emet-Selch in his lap, he could feel their mutual loneliness soothed; he could feel their hearts beating together. It inspired, and the sensation of Emet-Selch burying himself into his neck some more, squirming closer. Even without words he understood.
But to hear it said... Mettaton sighs, shakily, overcome.]
Then let me fill yours days with my gratitude... and my love for you. [Twisting his head, the robot moves from burying himself into his scalp, and dips lower to kiss the side of his neck.] Anywhere I go, I want you to be there with me.
[His constant companion. Even if they couldn't be literally fused, as they'd attempted once (and nonsensically became split apart from), he would still see Emet-Selch always with him. It's what he wanted... even if it selfishly dragged the smaller man from his final rest.
In other words, Mettaton knew the gravity of being the meaning for Emet-Selch's continued existence. And he stood taller for it, lived stronger for it, and thought for the purpose of not just himself, but for Emet-Selch. Even his own wish made to the Overseer was with Emet-Selch in mind, after all... for it was a fail-safe. Should he ever be separated, should his powers be inadequate to cross the expanses of worlds (and he doubted that very much), he had his husband's heart in mind.
Without words, he knew they both knew of each other's dedication. And for it, he squeezes him tight, their hearts bared to one another, tenderness gripping them in the space between climaxes. But even still, Mettaton felt arousal course through him strongly, endearment enough to fuel a bodily response to claim, to take, to make his husband gasp and moan, and to feel his body tense and writhe. Mettaton makes a small, sweet hum, a series of kisses planted along his neck and down to the tip of his shoulder.]
no subject
It was too affectionate, for one thing. And it had felt so long since there had been any sort of sexual mess between, that there was something nostalgic about it. A strange thing for him to miss, but there it was.
(There were still things to regain. Mettaton's senses of smell and taste, as it was a small regret still that the robot couldn't experience their coupling in those particular ways. But in comparison to what they had regained, it was a minor detail- something to add when they had the choice.)
Despite their conversations, grief-stricken and hindered by flowers, that he knew very well that Mettaton was hurt by how he'd acted, the Ascian didn't think of it as having undermined his lover's confidence in himself. Whether it was denial or ignorance, turning away from something that was left him feeling worse about his own behavior, he thought of it as a pain more straightforward, akin to the loneliness he felt for himself.
And which had already been soothed immeasurably by what they'd done, and by the promise of what more they could do. In grasps that each of them could feel in their entirety, to the appreciation of the heat their bodies could collect when flush (and the contrasting coolness of the open air).
It was hard to shift any closer, but they both tried, the mage conscious of his lover's own shudders, both of them left exposed to each other. Raw and wanting, needs that they soothed and showed best through sex, it seemed- and all that went with it, such as embraces like this. Words too, which felt easier to find when they were surrounded by the signs of their particular intimacy.
A small noise comes from his throat as Mettaton kisses his neck. Naturally, he gives it to him, hair falling to the side as he tilts his head.]
I'll follow you, wherever your life or chance takes you. I've managed it this far, haven't I?
[If not consciously or deliberately; there hadn't been any choice to make, when he'd found himself here, in Mettaton's wake. Nor did he recall them being separated before being brought here. But if he had any power, any choice- how could he take any other path? If there was a way to feel not utterly alone, without giving in to rebirth and the true end of this life, it would be in Mettaton's persistent company.
And... he wanted that. To see Mettaton's happiness, to aid or encourage his ambitions (to criticise and complain), to provide whatever support was called for. To find some version of his own happiness with him... the closest thing to a normal life that he could still have.
And his desire for it all was most readily expressed bodily, in the shift of bodies and hitch of breaths. The quivers of tension that already wished to gather in him, even if he still needed time to recover. Mettaton's arousal was inescapable and appealing, and he wanted to encourage it, to feel it, and to give his lover all of his own responses in return. Exhaling another small, pleased noise, he leans into his touch.]
I love you... after all.
no subject
Luckily, a prominent chunk of what they were missing has been dealt withhhhh right now, and Mettaton could feel the pressure with which Emet-Selch was squeezed to his chest. He could sigh breathlessly, as though his chest's been compressed of air, but he adored the pressure. He pets over his neck, and kisses ardently his neck, appreciative of its offering- and of the specific sensation of Emet-Selch's voice against his lips. They part, and Mettaton takes more of a mouthful of a kiss, though he doesn't deliberately try to apply any suction, given his lack of damp. He loves the sensation all the same, and wants to express that.
(Eventually, saliva would have to be a wish. Have to be. If his body could produce ejaculate somehow, it would have to produce saliva... and he wanted to better kiss and mark up his husband.)]
Hades... [His voice is soft and warm, lips moving against his neck. ] I love you too- and believe in you, dear. Ever reliable, you are.
[Even when he came to this world, he had spent his evenings with the fierce belief that his lover would arrive here to join him... even if he lost his memories, even if he couldn't remember him. Mettaton had plans for that situation, should it ever arise- and he was ready for anything. He was even ready to wait months... but he was also determined to find him, should he not manifest.
But he also got through lonely evenings with him close to his heart. With the belief that he would show up and rejoin him. So that he could lean upon him; so that he could watch Emet-Selch in those quiet moments, where the smaller man lived between seconds without the pressure of duty save for the support he was as his husband. To watch him meet his beaming with a small smile of his own, and to share instants with him. And...
To share this. Explorations of each other, when they were all that mattered in the world- Mettaton sighs, kissing Emet-Selch some more as he leans into him. Smiling against his neck, he encourages Emet-Selch deeper onto his lap- slipping him closer to his cock, so that they didn't merely touch, but sidled against each other's lengths, roots firmly riding against one another. Mettaton nearly groans, slowly and shortly rolling his hips with want.]
Mmm... Why don't you... see what else this body of mine has to offer? Some... closer examination.
[Though he quite enjoyed the feeling of Emet-Selch on his lap. He wouldn't mind having this exercised some more... but he also wouldn't mind it to be groped, pressed in other ways- sat on, kissed, swallowed, teased, he wanted it all, and squirms with every imagining, with the present sensation of Emet-Selch heavied in his lap, legs spread around his hips. He can't help it when he shifts him even closer, forcing the mage to settle more firmly against his root.]
no subject
What else... what else did you have in mind?
[He felt amenable to anything he could think of- as what way was there that he wouldn't want his husband, now that he could see him to the heights of his pleasure? Whether it was stroked off by his hand or against any other part of his body, or taken into his mouth again (though that would serve to remove the come he'd thoughtfully let slick against Mettaton's length), or fit into his body elsewhere.... Impaled on his length, whether sitting on his lap, spread around him, or pressed down and mounted- there was too much he could want.
And his thoughts did center somewhat around Mettaton's cock, though he chooses not to blame or judge himself for that. Appreciating the rest of his lover's body went with it, anyway... from his thighs and hips, to the firmness of the chest jutting into his (not uncommonly would he be left with the imprint of dials to skin), and to his face, which he couldn't get enough of kissing.
So it's a kiss that he searches out now, encouraging Mettaton to turn to face him, to let him take his lips with his own (saliva, yes... outside of the careful way the robot had to kiss his body without hurting him unintentionally, he's reminded of that missing element again; it was still something he'd ask Mettaton over before wishing it into being, just in case the other man would prefer to skip the unglamorousness of drooling). Soft to start with, repeated brushes of them together, but with an insistence that couldn't help but increase. And with it, small matching rolls of his hips, stroking their lengths together. Hands at Mettaton's back to help anchor himself, his breath is a touch shaky as he barely interrupts a kiss in order to speak.]
In what way would you prefer my inspection?
[By taking him inside, in hand? In getting down on eye-level once more, and inevitably seek to lap him clean? He sighs heavily, heatedly, the sound paired with a push of his body, working to stimulate Mettaton's cock with his own. He was in the mood to be accommodating- which carried its own sense of neediness with it, an ache that had gone mostly unfulfilled these past months to... serve. To be something other than the contrary mess he always was.]
no subject
...His own thoughts are centered around his cock. It was hard for it to be anything but the case, as he was hard, and he felt that delicious ache that felt so familiar...
That notice felt inspiring all on its own, and Mettaton gasps, groaning against Emet-Selch's lips- and reactively jolting his hips at the feeling of him grinding into his root, pushing himself against his cock. God it struck him, then, how heavily, unrelenting it felt to be aroused; he couldn't be blamed for losing inhibition like this, for making a scene and demanding his lover's touch. Everything felt so vivid that he feels compelled to share, lips parting reluctantly from Emet-Selch's.]
I want to tell you just how I feel. And see if it compels you in any direction of curiosity... because darling. This body must be different from the way it was. And yet...
[His sigh is shuddered, a hiccup made more of static in his head than it was of any bodily impact. Mettaton moves his hand away from the back of the Ascian's skull and instead, returns to his tattooed hip, where he clutches onto him, thumb placed squarely in the dip of his hip. A perfect spot to grasp him, he thought with continued, aching arousal, feeling particularly at home with the smaller man straddling his hips.
Fundamentally, this body had to be different because he is no longer a Puca. A monster he is, but not of Aefenglom's definition of it. He is a robot; there is nothing about his body that is organic any longer, save for his very soul and the magic that is dumbed down as much as anybody's. ...And yet.]
I feel... So heavy, Hades, oh... Already, it's... so much pressure.
[His voice is higher for this confession, as he wriggles beneath Emet-Selch's weight, jerking his hips some more for continued contact. It didn't feel dissimilar from the way fluid had been able to be produced by his hybrid organic body... the way that veins had grown and travelled throughout his figure, a new coolant system that sought its relief in broad ears and in erotic release. He nuzzles Emet-Selch next, lips together with his.]
It feels like that ache that doesn't abate. Just like it... without the relief of a pulse. Hades... won't you squeeze me somehow? Maybe... your fingers, to start- ah... [Even though in reality, he wanted... anything. Everything. All of it, at some point. His lips, his throat, his ass, his grip- his body to spill upon, all of it was coveted by him, and he shifts atop the bed in expression of this.]
no subject
(Not fucking in public didn't count... and besides, they'd ignored that too, when they'd felt like it.)
Every response is something Emet-Selch sought to absorb, even devour, knowing that he couldn't stifle Mettaton's noises even if he tried (and he didn't, his want only to take them in as closely as he could). From sound to touch, he fascinated over every twitch and groan, appreciating his pleasure vicariously, as it melded with what his body felt in its own right. Conscious of everywhere they touched (and especially every way their cocks touched), he breathes a hum against the taller man's lips, fixating on his response.]
Curiosity... [He considers the word, even as there was no shortage of aspects to be interested in, when it came to his lover's new composition. Not that inspection would involve taking him apart in the literal sense, not right now, as it wouldn't be particularly sexy to dismember his husband (beyond having the weird intuition he'd gained while he'd been down between his legs, that his cock might be detachable?).] I already hold some few visions in mind.
[But what had been done to Mettaton's body to provide for him this upgrade? What had happened... and more relevantly, what did it feel like? Emet-Selch finds himself holding his breath through the description.
Until it's all expelled in a gasp as Mettaton touches his tattoo, the sensation sending... something through him, that causes his body to jerk, and then to squirm in his lap. It was sensitive, whatever it was, and though he grumbles a little to follow, it's paired with another kiss, as he forces himself to focus back on what Mettaton was actually saying.
Though it had only been once, he remembered when they'd been one in body and soul and experience, and with Mettaton's robotic form being the foundation of their godhood, he'd felt with him what it was like to be aroused in it. An unabating pressure, a fullness distinct from what he was used to, similar but unrelenting. Shuddering at the memory, and to hear what Mettaton wanted from him first, he brings a hand down between them. Fingers trailing a path down the robot's throat, to his chest, he doesn't delay too long before finding his length, just as hard as he knew it would be.
But it was another dimension to feel him against his fingers, and though he cups him, giving him a firm stroke from root to tip, he wraps him up a moment later. Mettaton had asked for a squeeze- and Emet-Selch conveniently wanted to squeeze him. Thick and warm against his fingers- and slicker too, from where his own release had spattered on him, he gives him a few slow pumps.
Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing entirely, his lips remain slightly parted as he regards him, the mess between them, suggestive and demanding of more.]
--Like this? Keep- telling me what it's like. What you want to feel.
[Because it aroused him in no small way to hear it, especially when he could pair the imagery Mettaton inevitably invoked to the real thing, to the tangible firmness his fingers were wrapped around.]
no subject
But all of that was for Emet-Selch alone.
If he had the ears for it they'd perk at Emet-Selch's grumbling, the awareness that he had been pricked by something (other than his cock). He'd have to examine that later, once they weren't so busy enjoying the notion and sensation of Mettaton exposing his feelings. He would've shared it anyway, but he felt particularly pleased to share his feelings and let Emet-Selch live through his experience vicariously- because he could tell his husband was enjoying his enjoyment, and felt touched not just for that, but for the fact that he wished for it at all. He deserved to know his feelings.
The mage is quick to take action, to obey as desired- and Mettaton gasps preemptively, even before his hand has a chance to wrap around his length. Fingertips send sparks through his body, each enough to blank his mind, as he shudders and shifts, rocking his hips side to side in anticipation- and groaning, hard and sharp, when he wraps his fingers around his girth. His entire package is cupped, and Mettaton nearly whines, before exhaling in satisfaction to imagine how Emet-Selch would perceive his pleasure, and enjoy his size. The way he can wrap around his cock, and stroke over his cock using the slickness of semen. His own lips part, and he gasps, body stuttering as much as his vocals do.]
Oh- ohh-- Like...
[Like this, indeed. Pressure is combatted by pressure; Mettaton's thighs shift under Emet-Selch, squeezing closer before spreading farther apart, though it does nothing to keep Emet-Selch's from their spread about his hips. Mettaton can't fight the grip his husband has on him, nor does he want to when it's exactly what he wanted, but the thrill of having his hands otherwise occupied while someone else had his girth encircled, pumping him independent of his own actions, is something he's acutely aware of; the feeling of being jerked, admired, and squeezed was sharp and shocking, and immensely arousing.
Akin to the feeling of having missed something, but being far too distracted to feel any sorrow over it, especially when that thing was happening right now. Mettaton instead felt exalted and completely righted.]
Yes, this... Hades...
[Emet-Selch's shifted to look low, and MTT felt anything but self-conscious. At the same time, it sent a deep, heady weight through his body to know he was being looked at... a firming of that pressure, an ache that intensifies and fills him out. He bites his lower lip, nuzzling the side of the mage's face.]
Mmm... And when you look at me, [he begins, exhaling enough heat that he could feel it bounced back at him. It was nothing to sneeze at, how warm he could get, his internal temperature something that sought relief now in, well, release.] I feel it like a grip all its own. Yes, l adore your touch... but, oh... Even this, knowing you're getting a good look at me... Ha. As if I could get any more pronounced for you. If I could get stiffer... my body's trying, just to impress.
[That, he could tell. He could feel that battle of pressure, the tension of Emet-Selch's squeezing touch rivaled by the fullness he felt in his erection. Any softness that he had yet to finish filling out is well-filled by this point, his body rising to the challenge of giving Emet-Selch the perfect form to squeeze, giving only far enough to be clenched around- but that tip of his remains soft, giving far enough to be squeezed around, to betray the rigidity of his overall length.
An exhale of heat is paired with a sweet, melodic note of a moan while the robot kneads his hip. Both hands move to either side of him and grip him there, though the side without a mark flirts to squeeze idly at Emet-Selch's ass. (That he still has some pants to remove all the way is a truth, but at least he's stripped for him mostly.)]
Do you like what you see in me? How about what you feel...?
no subject
Mm... if you were any stiffer, I think something might tear.
[A comment paired with a tighter grip around Mettaton's base- one that he slowly lets drag upward until he's around the neck of his cock. A grip to 'test' that stiffness, that core of rigidity that he knew would be perfect to sit on, or be pushed down his throat. It wouldn't give way, with just enough softness around to be squeezable, to be comfortable to take.
All with the even softer, bulbous head, which he devotes a few moments of particular attention to, kneading it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb across the slit.]
Hard enough to be worth my time... [--No, he couldn't even pretend that it was even in question. He loved this too much, and the man whose cock he now held.] You already impress.
[That his grip was made smooth by his own semen was more arousing than it should have been, but also not unexpectedly so. Humming lowly, breathlessly, he unhands his hold on Mettaton's cock with a parting squeeze around the glans- all to take his own cock in hand. A single, slow grasp up his length has his breath catch, his body to tense- enjoyably, if sharply sensitive. But he wasn't distracted, and it's after that lone pass that he lets go of himself again, having scooped up some of the come that had dribbled there.
And with his fingers additionally slick, his hand returns to Mettaton's erection as if pulled there. Firm, but not so tight as to hurt him, he makes a satisfied noise at the slicker attribute of his grip, and the greater cloudiness to mark that improved glide. There would've been little chance of convincing him to not take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. Though he wasn't literally devouring him, his actions spoke of someone starved all the same.
Tilting his head briefly to kiss Mettaton's jaw, his gaze returns downward as if similarly pulled there, drawn to witness every pump of his fist, and to admire the thickness he had the privilege of tending to. An attractive sight between his own spread legs (his own cock ignored again now that he'd gotten what he wanted from it), the way Mettaton's kept trying to spread underneath him amused... as what could either of them do but want to be a display? And if Mettaton wanted to show himself off, he'd reward him with every bit of his attention. Whether it was his eyes on him, or his hand, or whatever part of his body that was called on, he would match it.
(The grip to his ass, though it first provokes a moan from him, is also an exasperating reminder of the fabric that remained stuck on one of his legs. Would he ever get a chance to remove it...)]
You're a vision. [He murmurs, a near-groan in his voice.] Every part of you.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)